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RGUSHUME 




COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 























RED MONEY 


BY 

FERGUS HUME 

Author of 11 The Mystery of a Hansom Cab t ” “ The Solitary Farm , 
i( The Peacock of Jewels , ” “The Red Window," 

** The Steel Crown , ” etc. 



G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 


* 




^ c<» 


Copyright, 1911, by 
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 


Red Money 


©CLA297733 


U 

K 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 


I. 

THE DRAMA OF LITTLE THINGS 


>j 

5 

II. 

IN THE WOOD L .j 

L.J 

L»J 

LW 

19 

III. 

AN UNEXPECTED RECOGNITION 

l». 

L*i 

33 

IV. 

SECRETS i.; 

L*J 

i»: 

L*J 

47 

V. 

THE WOMAN AND THE MAN 

•: 

L»] 

L.J 

6i 

VI. 

THE MAN AND THE WOMAN 

t»j 

L.J 

L«: 

76 

VII. 

THE SECRETARY >- 

m 

W 

> 

9 i 

VIII. 

AT MIDNIGHT >; 

r»i 

!•! 

I. 

105 

IX. 

AFTERWARDS w 

• 


> 

120 

X. 

A DIFFICULT POSITION la] 

> 


t*’ 

135 

XI. 

BLACKMAIL . ... > 

> 

'•J 

L.J 

149 

XII. 

THE CONSPIRACY . 


L*J 

CJ 

164 

XIII. 

A FRIEND IN NEED m 

> 

•1 

1* 

180 

XIV. 

MISS GREEBY, DETECTIVE 

c»: 


;• 

194 


4 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XV. GUESSWORK M r-i 

M 


w 

PAGE 

» 208 

XVI. 

THE LAST STRAW w 

W 

l»j 

w 

to: 

222 

XVII. 

ON THE TRAIL w 

t*l 

w 

ca 

[»! 

236 

XVIII. 

AN AMAZING ACCUSATION 

M 

w 

L*. 

252 

XIX. 

MOTHER COCKLESHELL 

■i 

M 

L*J 

to 

266 

XX. 

THE DESTINED END 

L»J 

M 

m 

to: 

280 

XXI. 

A FINAL SURPRISE 


W 


to 

298 


RED MONEY 


CHAPTER I. 

!THE DRAMA OF LITTLE THINGS. 

“Gypsies! How very delightful! I really must 
have my fortune told. The dear things know: all 
about the future.” 

As Mrs. Belgrove spoke she peered through her 
lorgnette to see if anyone at the breakfast-table 
was smiling. The scrutiny was necessary, since 
she was the oldest person present, and there did not 
appear to be any future for her, save that very cer- 
tain one connected with a funeral. But a society 
lady of sixty, made up to look like one of forty (her 
maid could do no more), with an excellent digestion 
and a constant desire, like the Athenians of old, for 
“Something New !” can scarcely be expected to dwell 
upon such a disagreeable subject as death. Neverthe- 
less, Mrs. Belgrove could not disguise from herself 
that her demise could not be postponed for many 
more years, and examined the faces of the other 
guests to see if they thought so too. If anyone did, 
he and she politely suppressed a doubtful look and 
applauded the suggestion of a fortune-telling expe- 
dition. 


5 


6 


RED MONEY 


* “Let us make up a party and go,” said the hostess, 
only too thankful to find something to amuse the 
house-party for a few hours. “Where did you say 
the gypsies were, Garvington ?” 

“In the Abbot’s Wood,” replied her husband, a fat, 
small round-faced man, who was methodically de- 
vouring a large breakfast. 

“That’s only three miles away. We can drive or 
ride.” 

“Or motor, or bicycle, or use Shanks’ mare,” re- 
marked Miss Greeby rather vulgarly. Not that any 
one minded such a speech from her, as her vulgarity 
was merely regarded as eccentricity, because she had 
money and brains, an exceedingly long tongue, and 
a memory of other people’s failings to match. 

Lord Garvington made no reply, as breakfast, in 
his opinion, was much too serious a business to be 
interrupted. He reached for the marmalade, and re- 
quested that a bowl of Devonshire cream should be 
passed along. His wife, who was lean and anxious- 
looking even for an August hostess, looked at him 
wrathfully. He never gave her any assistance in en- 
tertaining their numerous guests, yet always insisted 
that the house should be full for the shooting season. 
And being poor for a titled pair, they could not afford 
to entertain even a shoeblack, much less a crowd of 
hungry sportsmen and a horde of frivolous women, 
who required to be amused expensively. It was really 
too bad of Garvington. 

At this point the reflections of the hostess were in- 
terrupted by Miss Greeby, who always had a great deal 
to say, and who always tried, as an American would 
observe, “to run the circus.” “I suppose you men will 
go out shooting as usual?” she said in her sharp, 
clear voice. 

The men present collectively declared that such 


RED MONEY 


7 


was their intention, and that they had come to 
“The Manor” for that especial purpose, so it was use- 
less to ask them, or any one of them, to go on a for- 
tune-telling expedition when they could find anything 
of that sort in Bond Street. “And it’s all a lot of rot, 
anyhow,” declared one sporting youth with obviously 
more muscle and money than brains; “no one can tell 
my fortune.” 

“I can, Billy. You will be Prime Minister,” 
flashed out Miss Greeby, at which there was a gen- 
eral laugh. Then Garvington threw a bombshell. 

“You’d better get your fortunes told to-day, if 
you want to,” he grunted, wiping his mustache; “for 
to-morrow I’m going to have these rotters moved off 
my land straight away. They’re thieves and liars.” 

“So are many other people,” snapped Miss Gree- 
by, who had lost heavily at bridge on the previous 
night and spoke feelingly. 

Her host paid no attention to her. “There’s been 
a lot of burglaries in this neighborhood of late. I 
daresay these gypsies are mixed up in them.” 

“Burglaries !” cried Mrs. Belgrove, and turned 
pale under her rouge, as she remembered that she 
had her diamonds with her. 

“Oh, it’s all right! Don’t worry,” said Garving- 
ton, pushing back his chair. “They won’t try on any 
games in this house while I’m here. If any one tries 
to get in I’ll shoot the beast.” 

“Is that allowed by law?” asked an army officer 
with a shrug. 

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” retorted Gar- 
vington. “An Englishman’s house is his castle, you 
know, and he can jolly well shoot any one who tries 
to get into it. Besides, I shouldn’t mind potting a 
burglar. Great sport.” 


s 


BED MONEY 


“You’d ask his intentions first, I presume,” said 
Lady Garvington tartly. 

“Not me. Any one getting into the house after 
dark doesn’t need his intentions to be asked. I’d 
shoot.” 

“What about Romeo ?” asked a poetic-looking 
young man. “He got into Juliet’s house, but did not 
-come as a burglar.” 

“He came as a guest, I believe,” said a quiet, sil- 
very voice at the end of the table, and every one 
turned to look at Lady Agnes Pine, who had spoken. 

She was Garvington’s sister, and the wife of Sir 
Hubert Pine, the millionaire, who was absent from 
the house party on this occasion. As a rule, she spoke 
little, and constantly wore a sad expression on her 
pale and beautiful face. And Agnes Pine really was 
beautiful, being one of those tall, slim willowy-look- 
ing women who always look well and act charmingly. 
And, indeed, her undeniable charm of manner prob- 
ably had more to do with her reputation as a hand- 
some woman than her actual physical grace. With 
her dark hair and dark eyes, her Greek features and 
ivory skin faintly tinted with a tea-rose hue, she 
looked very lovely and very sad. Why she should 
be, was a puzzle to many women, as being the wife 
of a superlatively rich man, she had all the joys that 
money could bring her. Still it was hinted on good 
authority — but no one ever heard the name of the 
authority — that Garvington being poor had forced 
her into marrying Sir Hubert, for whom she did not 
care in the least. People said that her cousin Noel 
Lambert was the husband of her choice, but that she 
had sacrificed herself, or rather had been compelled 
to do so, in order that Garvington might be set on 
his legs. But Lady Agnes never gave any one the 
satisfaction of knowing the exact truth. She moved 


RED MONEY 


9 


through the social world like a gentle ghost, fulfilling 
her duties admirably, but apparently indifferent to 
every one and everything. “Clippin’ to look at,” said 
the young men, “but tombs to talk to. No sport at 
all.” But then the young men did not possess the key 
to Lady Agnes Pine’s heart. # Nor did her husband 
apparently. 

Her voice was very low and musical, and every one 
felt its charm. Garvington answered her question as 
he left the room. “Romeo or no Romeo, guest or no 
guest,” he said harshly, “I’ll shoot any beast who tries 
to enter my house. Come on, you fellows. We start 
in half an hour for the coverts.” 

When the men left the room, Miss Greeby came 
and sat down in a vacant seat near her hostess. 
“What did Garvington mean by that last speech?” 
she asked with a significant look at Lady Agnes. 

“Oh, my dear, when does Garvington ever mean 
anything?” said the other woman fretfully. “He is 
so selfish ; he leaves me to do everything.” 

“Well,” drawled Miss Greeby with a pensive look 
on her masculine features, “he looked at Agnes when 
he spoke.” 

“What do you mean?” demanded Lady Garvington 
sharply. 

Miss Greeby gave a significant laugh. “I notice that 
Mr. Lambert is not in the house,” she said carelessly. 
“But some one told me he was near at hand in the 
neighborhood. Surely Garvington doesn’t mean to 
shoot him.” 

“Clara.” The hostess sat up very straight, and a 
spot of color burned on either sallow cheek. “I am 
surprised at you. Noel is staying in the Abbot’s Wood 
Cottage, and indulging in artistic work of some sort. 
But he can come and stay here, if he likes. You don’t 


10 


RED MONEY 


mean to insinuate that he would climb into the house 
through a window after dark like a burglar ?” 

“That’s just what I do mean,” retorted Miss Gree- 
by daringly, “and if he does, Garvington will shoot 
him. He said so.” 

“He said nothing of the sort,” cried Lady Garving- 
ton, angrily rising. 

“Well, he meant it. I saw him looking at Agnes. 
And we know that Sir Hubert is as jealous as Othello. 
Garvington is on guard I suppose, and ” 

“Will you hold your tongue?” whispered the mis- 
tress of the Manor furiously, and she would have 
shaken Miss Greeby, but that she had borrowed money 
from her and did not dare to incur her enmity. “Ag- 
nes will hear you ; she is looking this way ; can’t you 
see?” 

“As if I cared,” laughed Miss Greeby, pushing y out 
her full lower lip in a contemptuous manner. How- 
ever, for reasons best known to herself, she held her 
peace, although she would have scorned the idea that 
the hint of her hostess made her do so. 

Lady Garvington saw that her guests were all chat- 
tering with one another, and that the men were getting 
ready to leave for the day’s shooting, so she went to 
discuss the dinner in the housekeeper’s room. But all 
the time she and the housekeeper were arguing what 
Lord Garvington would like in the way of food, the 
worried woman was reflecting on what Miss Greeby 
had said. When the menu was finally settled — no easy 
task when it concerned the master of the house — Lady 
Garvington sought out Mrs. Belgrove. That juvenile 
ancient was sunning herself on the terrace, in the hope 
of renewing her waning vitality, and, being alone, 
permitted herself to look old. She brisked up with a 
kittenish purr when disturbed, and remarked that the 
Hengishire air was like champagne. “My spirits are 


RED MONEY 


11 


positively wild and wayward,” said the would-be Hebe 
with a desperate attempt to be youthful. 

“Ah, you haven’t got the house to look after,” sighed 
Lady Garvington, with a weary look, and dropped into 
a basket chair to pour out her woes to Mrs. Belgrove. 
That person was extremely discreet, as years of so- 
ciety struggling had taught her the value of silence. 
Her discretion in this respect brought her many con- 
fidences, and she was renowned for giving advice 
which was never taken. 

“What’s the matter, my dear? You look a hun- 
dred,” said Mrs. Belgrove, putting up her lorgnette 
with a chuckle, as if she had made an original obser- 
vation. But she had not, for Lady Garvington always 
appeared worn and weary, and sallow, and untidy. 
She was the kind of absent-minded person who de- 
pended upon pins to hold her garments together, and 
who would put on her tiara crookedly for a drawing- 
room. 

“Clara Greeby’s a cat,” said poor, worried Lady 
Garvington, hunting for her pocket handkerchief, 
which was rarely to be found. 

“Has she been making love to Garvington ?” 

“Pooh ! No woman attracts Garvington unless she 
can cook, or knows something about a kitchen range. 
I might as well have married a soup tureen. I’m sure 
I don’t know why I ever did marry him,” lamented 
the lady, staring at the changing foliage of the park 
trees. “He’s a pauper and a pig, my dear, although I 
wouldn’t say so to every one. I wish my mother hadn’t 
insisted that I should attend cooking classes.” 

“What on earth has that to do with it?” 

“To do with what?” asked Lady Garvington absent- 
mindedly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, 
I’m sure. But mother knew that Garvington was fond 
of a good dinner, and made me attend those classes, so 


12 


BED MONEY 


as to learn to talk about French dishes. We used to 
flirt about soups and creams and haunches of veni- 
son, until he thought that I was as greedy as he was. 
So he married me, and I’ve been attending to his meals 
ever since. Why, even for our honeymoon we went 
to Mont St. Michel. They make splendid omelettes 
there, and Garvington ate all the time. Ugh!” and 
the poor lady shuddered. 

Mrs. Belgrove saw that her companion was mean- 
dering, and would never come to the point unless 
forced to face it, so she rapped her knuckles with the 
lorgnette. “What about Clara Greeby ?” she demanded 
sharply. 

“She’s a cat!” 

“Oh, we’re all cats, mewing or spitting as the fit 
takes us,” said Mrs. Belgrove comfortably. “I can’t 
see why cat should be a term of opprobrium when 
applied to a woman. Cats are charmingly pretty ani- 
mals, and know what they want, also how to get it. 
Well, my dear?” 

“I believe she was in love with Noel herself,” rumi- 
nated Lady Garvington. 

“Who was in love? Come to the point, my dear 
Jane.” 

“Clara Greeby.” 

Mrs. Belgrove laughed. “Oh, that ancient history. 
Every one who was anybody knew that Clara would 
have given her eyes — and very ugly eyes they are — 
to have married Noel Lambert. I suppose you mean 
him? Noel isn’t a common name. Quite so. You 
mean him. Well, Clara wanted to buy him. He hasn’t 
any money, and as a banker’s heiress she is as rich as 
a Jew. But he wouldn’t have her.” 

“Why wouldn’t he?” asked Lady Garvington, wak- 
ing up — she had been reflecting about a new soup 
which she hoped would please her husband. “Clara 


RED MONEY 


13 


has quite six thousand a year, and doesn’t look bad 
when her maid makes her dress in a proper manner. 
And, talking about maids, mine wants to leave, 
and ” 

“She’s too like Boadicea,” interrupted Mrs. Bel- 
grove, keeping her companion to the subject of Miss 
Greeby. “A masculine sort of hussy. Noel is far too 
artistic to marry such a maypole. She’s six foot two, 

if she’s an inch, and her hands and feet ” Mrs. 

Belgrove shuddered with a gratified glance at her own 
slim fingers. 

“You know the nonsense that Garvington was talk- 
ing; about shooting a burglar,” said the other woman 
vaguely. “Such nonsense, for I’m sure no burglar 
would enter a house filled with nothing but Early Vic- 
torian furniture.” 

“Well? Well? Well?” said Mrs. Belgrove impa- 
tiently. 

“Clara Beeby thought that Garvington meant to 
shoot Noel.” 

“Why, in heaven’s name ! Because Noel is his heir ?” 

“I’m sure I can’t help it if I’ve no children,” said 
Lady Garvington, going off on another trail — the one 
suggested by Mrs. Belgrove’s remark. “I’d be a hap- 
pier woman if I had something else to attend to than 
dinners. I wish we all lived on roots, so that Garving- 
ton could dig them up for himself.” 

“My dear, he’d send you out with a trowel to do 
that,” said Mrs. Belgrove humorously. “But why does 
Garvington want to shoot Noel?” 

“Oh, he doesn’t. I never said he did. Clara Greeby 
made the remark. You see, Noel loved Agnes^ before 
she married Hubert, and I believe he loves her still, 
which isn’t right, seeing she’s married, and isn’t half 
so good-looking as she was. And Noel stopping at 
that cottage in the Abbot’s Wood painting in water- 


14 


RED MONEY 


colors. I think he is, but I’m not sure if it isn’t in oils, 
and the ” 

“Well? Well? Well?” asked Mrs. Belgrove again. 

“It isn’t well at all, when you think what a tongue 
Clara Greeby has,” snapped Lady Garvington. “She 
said if Noel came to see Agnes by night, Garvington, 
taking him for a burglar, might shoot him. She in- 
sisted that he looked at Agnes when he was talking 
about burglars, and meant that.” 

“What nonsense!” cried Mrs. Belgrove vigorously, 
at last having arrived at a knowledge of why Lady 
Garvington had sought her. “Noel can come here 
openly, so there is no reason he should steal here after 
dark.” 

“Well, he’s romantic, you know, dear. And roman- 
tic people always prefer windows to doors and dark- 
ness to light. The windows here are so insecure,” 
added Lady Garvington, glancing at the facade above 
her untidy hair. “He could easily get in by sticking 
a penknife in between the upper and lower sash of the 
window. It would be quite easy.” 

“What nonsense you talk, Jane,” said Mrs. Bel- 
grove, impatiently. “Noel is not the man to come after 
a married woman when her husband is away. I have 
known him since he was a Harrow schoolboy, so I 
have every right to speak. Where is Sir Hubert?” 

“He is at Paris or Pekin, or something with a ‘P,’ ” 
said Lady Garvington in her usual vague way. “I’m 
sure I don’t know why he can’t take Agnes with him. 
They get on very well for a married couple.” 

“All the same she doesn’t love him.” 

“He loves her, for I’m sure he’s that jealous that 
he can’t scarcely bear her out of his sight.” 

“It seems to me that he can,” remarked Mrs. Bel- 
grove dryly. “Since he is at Paris or Pekin and she 
is here.” 


RED MONEY 


15 


“Garvington is looking after her, and he owes Sir 
Hubert too much, not to see that Agnes is all right.” 

Mrs. Belgrove peered at Lady Garvington through 
her lorgnette. “I think you talk a great deal of non- 
sense, Jane, as I said before,” she observed. “I don’t 
suppose for one moment that Agnes thinks of Noel, 
or Noel of Agnes.” 

“Clara Greeby says ” 

“Oh, I know what she says and what she wishes. 
She would like to get Noel into trouble with Sir Hu- 
bert over Agnes, simply because he will not marry her. 
As to her chatter about burglars ” 

“Garvington’s chatter,” corrected her companion. 

“Well, then, Garvington’s. It’s all rubbish. Agnes 
is a sweet girl, and ” 

“Girl ?” Lady Garvington laughed disdainfully. “She 
is twenty-five.” 

“A mere baby. People cannot be called old until 
they are seventy or eighty. It is a bad habit growing 
old. I have never encouraged it myself. By the way, 
tell me something about Sir Hubert Pine. I have 
only met him once or twice. What kind of a man is 
he?” 

“Tall, and thin, and dark, and — — ” 

“I know his appearance. But his nature?” 

“He’s jealous, and can be very disagreeable when he 
likes. I don’t know who he is, or where he came from. 
He made his money out of penny toys and South Afri- 
can investments. He was a member of Parliament for 
a few years, and helped his party so much with money 
that he was knighted. That’s all I know of him, ex- 
cept that he is very mean.” 

“Mean ? What you tell me doesn’t sound mean.” 

“I’m talking of his behavior to Garvington,” ex- 
plained the hostess, touching her ruffled hair, “he 
doesn’t give us enough money.” 


16 J RED MONEY 


“Why should he give you any?” asked Mrs. Bel- 
grove bluntly. 

“Well, you see, dear, Garvington would never have 
allowed his sister to marry a nobody, unless ” 

“Unless the nobody paid for his footing. I quite 
understand. Every one knows that Agnes married 
the man to save her family from bankruptcy. Poor 
girl!” Mrs. Belgrove sighed. “And she loved Noel. 
What a shame that she couldn’t become his wife !” 

“Oh, that would have been absurd,” said Lady Gar- 
vington pettishly. “What’s the use of Hunger mar- 
rying Thirst? Noel has no money, just like ourselves, 
and if it hadn’t been for Hubert this place would have 
been sold long ago. I’m telling you secrets, mind.” 

“My dear, you tell me nothing that everybody doesn’t 
know.” 

“Then what is your advice?” 

“About what, my dear?” 

“About what I have been telling you. The burglar, 
and ” 

“I have told you before, that it is rubbish. If a 
burglar does come here I hope Lord Garvington will 
shoot him, as I don’t want to lose my diamonds.” 

“But if the burglar is Noel?” 

“He won’t be Noel. Clara Greeby has simply made 
a nasty suggestion which is worthy of her. But if 
you’re afraid, why not get her to marry Noel?” 

“He won’t have her,” said Lady Garvington dole- 
fully. 

“I know he won’t. Still a persevering woman can 
do wonders, and Clara Greeby has no self-respect. 
And if you think Noel is too near, get Agnes to join 
her husband in Pekin.” 

“I think it’s Paris.” 

“Well then, Paris. She can buy new frocks.” 

“Agnes doesn’t care for new frocks. Such simple 


RED MONEY 


17 


tastes she has, wanting to help the poor. Rubbish, I 
call it.” 

“Why : when her husband helps Lord Garvington ?” 
asked Mrs. Belgrove artlessly. 

Lady Garvington frowned. “What horrid things 
you say.” 

“I only repeat what every one is saying.” 

“Well, I’m sure I don’t care,” cried Lady Garvington 
recklessly, and rose to depart on some vague errand. 
“I’m only in the world to look after dinners and break- 
fasts. Clara Greeby’s a cat making all this fuss 
about ” 

“Hush ! There she is.” 

Lady Garvington fluttered round, and drifted 
towards Miss Greeby, who had just stepped out on 
to the terrace. The banker’s daughter was in a tailor- 
made gown with a man’s cap and a man’s gloves, and 
a man’s boots — at least, as Mrs. Belgrove thought, they 
looked like that — and carried a very masculine stick, 
more like a bludgeon than a cane. With her ruddy 
complexion and ruddy hair, and piercing blue eyes, and 
magnificent figure — for she really had a splendid fig- 
ure in spite of Mrs. Belgrove’s depreciation — she 
looked like a gigantic Norse goddess. With a flash- 
ing display of white teeth, she came along swinging her 
stick, or whirling her shillalah, as Mrs. Belgrove put 
it, and seemed the embodiment of coarse, vigorous 
health. 

“Taking a sun-bath?” she inquired brusquely and in 
a loud baritone voice. “Very wise of you two elderly 
things. I am going for a walk.” 

Mrs. Belgrove was disagreeable in her turn. “Go- 
ing to the Abbot’s Wood?” 

“How clever of you to guess,” Miss Greeby smiled 
and nodded. “Yes, I’m going to look up Lambert”; 
she always spoke of her male friends in this hearty 


18 


RED MONEY 


fashion. “He ought to be here enjoying himself in- 
stead of living like a hermit in the wilds.” 

“He’s painting pictures,” put in Lady Garvington. 
“Do hermits paint?” 

“No. Only society women do that,” said Miss 
Greeby cheerfully, and Mrs. Belgrove’s faded eyes 
flashed. She knew that the remark was meant for her, 
and snapped back. “Are you going to have your for- 
tune told by the gypsies, dear?” she inquired amiably. 
“They might tell you about your marriage.” 

“Oh, I daresay, and if you ask they will prophesy 
your funeral.” 

“I am in perfect health, Miss Greeby.” 

“So I should think, since your cheeks are so red.” 

Lady Garvington hastily intervened to prevent the 
further exchange of compliments. “Will you be back 
to luncheon, or join the men at the coverts?” 

“Neither. I’ll drop on Lambert for a feed. Where 
are you going?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know,” said the hostess vaguely. 
“There’s lots to do. I shall know what’s to be done, 
when I think of it,” and she drifted along the terrace 
and into the house like a cloud blown any way by 
the wind. Miss Greeby looked after her limp figure 
with a contemptuous grin, then she nodded casually 
to Mrs. Belgrove, and walked whistling down the 
terrace steps. 

“Cat, indeed!” commented Mrs. Belgrove to 
herself when she saw Miss Greeby’s broad back dis- 
appear behind the laurels. “ Nothing half so pretty. 
She’s like a great Flanders mare. And I wish Henry 
VIII. was alive to marry her,” she added the epithet 
suggesting that king, “ if only to cut her head off.” 


CHAPTER II. 


IN THE WOOD. 

Miss Greeby swung along towards her destination 
with a masculine stride and in as great a hurry as 
though she had entered herself for a Marathon race. 
It was a warm, misty day, and the pale August sun- 
shine radiated faintly through the smoky atmosphere. 
Nothing was clear-cut and nothing was distinct, so 
hazy was the outlook. The hedges were losing their 
greenery and had blossomed forth into myriad bunches 
of ruddy hips and haws, and the usually hard road 
was soft underfoot because of the penetrating quality 
of the moist air. There was no wind to clear away 
the misty greyness, but yellow leaves without its aid 
dropped from the disconsolate trees. The lately-reaped 
fields stretching on either side of the lane down which 
the lady was walking, presented a stubbled expanse 
of brown and dim gold, uneven and distressful to the 
eye. The dying world was in ruins and Nature had 
reduced herself to that necessary chaos, out of which, 
when the coming snow completed its task, she would 
build a new heaven and a new earth. 

An artist might have had some such poetic fancy, 
and would certainly have looked lovingly on the 
alluring colors and forms of decay. But Miss Greeby 
was no artist, and prided herself upon being an ag- 
gressively matter-of-fact young woman. With her big 
boots slapping the ground and her big hands thrust into 
the pockets of her mannish jacket, she bent her head 
19 


20 


BED MONEY 


in a meditative fashion and trudged briskly onward. 
tWhat romance her hard nature was capable of, was 
uppermost now, but it had to do strictly with her per- 
sonal feelings and did not require the picturesque 
autumn landscape to improve or help it in any way. 
One man’s name suggested romance to bluff, breezy 
Clara Greeby, and that name was Noel Lambert. She 
murmured it over and over again to her heart, and her 
hard face flushed into something almost like beauty, 
as she remembered that she would soon behold its 
owner. “But he won’t care,” she said aloud, and threw 
back her head defiantly: then after a pause, she 
breathed softly, “But I shall make him care.” 

If she hoped to do so, the task was one which re- 
quired a great amount of skill and a greater amount of 
womanly courage, neither of which qualities Miss 
Greeby possessed. She had no skill in managing a 
man, as her instincts were insufficiently feminine, and 
her courage was of a purely rough-and-tumble kind. 
She could have endured hunger and thirst and cold: 
she could have headed a forlorn hope : she could have 
held to a sinking ship: but she had no store of that 
peculiar feminine courage which men don’t understand 
and which women can’t explain, however much they 
may exhibit it. Miss Greeby was an excellent comrade, 
but could not be the beloved of any man, because of 
the very limitations of semi-masculinity upon which 
she prided herself. Noel Lambert wanted a womanly 
woman, and Lady Agnes was his ideal of what a wife 
should be. Miss Greeby had in every possible way 
offered herself for the post, but Lambert had never 
cared for her sufficiently to endure the thought of pass- 
ing through life with her beside him. He said she was 
“a good sort” ; and when a man says that of a woman, 
she may be to him a good friend, or even a platonic 
chum, but she can never be a desirable wife in his 


RED MONEY 


21 


eyes. What Miss Greeby lacked was sex, and lacking 
that, lacked everything. It was strange that with her 
rough common sense she could not grasp this want. 
But the thought that Lambert required what she could 
never give — namely, the feminine tenderness which 
strong masculine natures love — never crossed her very 
clear and mathematical mind. 

So she was bent upon a fool’s errand, as she strode 
towards the Abbot’s Wood, although she did not know 
it. Her aim was to capture Lambert as her husband; 
and her plan, to accomplish her wish by working on 
the heart-hunger he most probably felt, owing to the 
loss of Agnes Pine. If he loved that lady in a chival- 
rous fashion — and Miss Greeby believed that he did — 
she was absolutely lost to him as the wife of another 
man. Lambert would never degrade her into a divorce 
court appearance. And perhaps, after all, as Miss 
Greeby thought hopefully, his love for Sir Hubert’s 
wife might have turned to scorn that she had pre- 
ferred money to true love. But then, again, as Miss 
Greeby remembered, with a darkening face, Agnes 
had married the millionaire so as to save the family 
estates from being sold. Rank has its obligation, and 
Lambert might approve of the sacrifice, since he was 
the next heir to the Garvington title. “We shall see 
what his attitude is,” decided Miss Greeby, as she 
entered the Abbot’s Wood, and delayed arranging her 
future plans until she fully understood his feelings 
towards the woman he had lost. In the meantime, 
Lambert would want a comrade, and Miss Greeby was 
prepared to sink her romantic feelings, for the time 
being, in order to be one. 

The forest — which belonged to Garvington, so long 
as he paid the interest on the mortgage — was not a 
very large one. In the old days it had been of greater 
size and well stocked with wild animals; so well 


22 


RED MONEY 


stocked, indeed, that the abbots of a near monastery- 
had used it for many hundred years as a hunting 
ground. But the monastery had vanished off the face 
of the earth, as not even its ruins were left, and the 
game had disappeared as the forest grew smaller and 
the district around became more populous. A Lambert 
of the Georgian period — the family name of Lord 
Garvington was Lambert — had acquired what was left 
of the monastic wood by winning it at a game of cards 
from the nobleman who had then owned it. Now it 
was simply a large patch of green in the middle of a 
somewhat naked county, for Hengishire is not remark- 
able for woodlands. There were rabbits and birds, 
badgers, stoats, and such-like wild things in it still, 
but the deer which the abbots had hunted were con- 
spicuous by their absence. Garvington looked after 
it about as much as he did after the rest of his estates, 
which was not saying much. The fat, round little 
lord’s heart was always in the kitchen, and he pre- 
ferred eating to fulfilling his duties as a landlord. 
Consequently, the Abbot’s Wood was more or less 
public property, save when Garvington turned crusty 
and every now and then cleared out all interlopers. 
But tramps came to sleep in the wood, and gypsies 
camped in its glades, while summer time brought many 
artists to rave about its sylvan beauties, and paint pic- 
tures of ancient trees and silent pools, and rugged 
lawns besprinkled with rainbow wild flowers. People 
who went to the Academy and to the various art ex- 
hibitions in Bond Street knew the Abbot’s Wood fairly 
well, as it was rarely that at least one picture dealing 
with it did not appear. 

Miss Greeby had explored the wood before and 
knew exactly where to find the cottage mentioned by 
Lady Garvington. On the verge of the trees she saw 
the blue smoke of the gypsies’ camp fires, and heard 


RED MONEY 


23 


the vague murmur of Romany voices, but, avoiding 
the vagrants, she took her way through the forest by 
a winding path. This ultimately led her to a spacious 
glade, in the centre of which stood a dozen or more 
rough monoliths of mossy gray and weather-worn 
stones, disposed in a circle. Probably these were all 
that remained of some Druidical temple, and archae- 
ologists came from far and near to view the weird 
relics. And in the middle of the circle stood the cot- 
tage: a thatched dwelling, which might have had to 
do with a fairy tale, with its whitewashed walls cov- 
ered with ivy, and its latticed windows, on the ledges 
of which stood pots of homely flowers. There was no 
fence round this rustic dwelling, as the monoliths 
stood as guardians, and the space between the cot- 
tage walls and the gigantic stones was planted thickly 
with fragrant English flowers. Snapdragon, sweet- 
william, marigolds, and scented clove carnations, were 
all to be found there : also there was thyme, mint, 
sage, and other pot-herbs. And the whole perfumed 
space was girdled by trees old and young, which stood 
back from the emerald beauty of untrimmed lawns. 
A more ideal spot for a dreamer, or an artist, or a 
hermit, or for the straying prince of a fairy tale, it 
would have been quite impossible to find. Miss Gree- 
by’s vigorous and coarse personality seemed to break 
in a noisy manner — although she did not utter a single 
word — the enchanted silence of the solitary place. \ 
However, the intruder was too matter-of-fact to 
trouble about the sequestered liveliness of this unique 
dwelling. She strode across the lawns, and passing 
beyond the monoliths, marched like an invader up 
the narrow path between the radiant flower-beds. 
From the tiny green door she raised the burnished 
knocker and brought it down with an emphatic bang. 
Shortly the door opened with a pettish tug, as though 


24 


BED MONEY 


the person behind was rather annoyed by the noise, 
and a very tall, well-built, slim young man made his 
appearance on the threshold. He held a palette on the 
thumb of one hand, and clutched a sheaf of brushes, 
while another brush was in his mouth, and luckily 
impeded a rather rough welcome. The look in a pair 
of keen blue eyes certainly seemed to resent the intru- 
sion, but at the sight of Miss Greeby this irritability 
changed to a glance of suspicion. Lambert, from old 
associations, liked his visitor very well on the whole, 
but that feminine intuition, which all creative na- 
tures possess, warned him that it was wise to keep 
her at arm’s length. She had never plainly told her 
love; but she had assuredly hinted at it more or less 
by eye and manner and undue hauntings of his foot- 
steps when in London. He could not truthfully tell 
himself that he was glad of her unexpected visit. For 
quite half a minute they stood staring at one another, 
and Miss Greeby’s hard cheeks flamed to a poppy red 
at the sight of the man she loved. 

“Well, Hermit,” she observed, when he made no 
remark. “As the mountain would not come to Ma- 
homet, the prophet has come to the mountain.” 

“The mountain is welcome,” said Lambert diplo- 
matically, and stood aside, so that she might enter. 
Then adopting the bluff and breezy, rough-and-ready- 
man-to-man attitude, which Miss Greeby liked to see 
in her friends, he added : “Come in, old girl ! It’s a 
pal come to see a pal, isn’t it?” 

“Rather,” assented Miss Greeby, although, woman- 
like, she was not entirely pleased with this unromantic 
welcome. ‘We played as brats together, didn’t we? 
“Yes,” she added meditatively, when following Lam- 
bert into his studio, “I think we are as chummy as a 
man and woman well can be.” 


RED MONEY 


25 


“True enough. You were always a good sort, Clara. 
How well you are looking — more of a man than ever.” 

“Oh, stop that!” said Miss Greeby roughly. 

“Why?” Lambert raised his eyebrows. “As a girl 
you always liked to be thought manly, and said again 
and again that you wished you were a boy.” 

“I find that I am a woman, after all,” sighed the 
visitor, dropping into a chair and looking round ; 
“with a woman’s feelings, too.” 

“And very nice those feelings are, since they have 
influenced you to pay me a visit in the wilds,” re- 
marked the artist imperturbably. 

“What are you doing in the wilds?” 

“Painting,” was the laconic retort. 

“So I see. Still-life pictures?” 

“Not exactly.” He pointed toward the easel. “Be- 
hold and approve.” 

Miss Greeby did behold, but she certainly did not 
approve, because she was a woman and in love. It 
was only a pictured head she saw, but the head was 
that of a very beautiful girl, whose face smiled from 
the canvas in a subtle, defiant way, as if aware of its 
wild loveliness. The raven hair streamed straightly 
down to the shoulders — for the bust of the model was 
slightly indicated — and there, bunched out into curls. 
A red and yellow handkerchief was knotted round the 
brows, and dangling sequins added to its barbaric ap- 
pearance. Nose and lips and eyes, and contours, were 
all perfect, and it really seemed as though the face 
were idealized, so absolutely did it respond to all 
canons of beauty. It was a gypsy countenance, and 
there lurked in its loveliness that wild, untamed look 
which suggested unrestricted roamings and the spa- 
cious freedom of the road. 

The sudden, jealous fear which surged into Miss 
Greeby’s heart climbed to her throat and choked her 


26 


RED MONEY 


speech. But she had wisdom enough to check unwise 
words, and glanced round the studio to recover her 
composure. The room was small and barely fur- 
nished; a couch, two deep arm-chairs, and a small 
table filled its limited. area. The walls and roof were 
painted a pale green, and a carpet of the same deli- 
cate hue covered the floor. Of course, there were the 
usual painting materials, brushes and easel and pal- 
ettes and tubes of color, together with a slightly 
raised platform near the one window where the model 
could sit or stand. The window itself had no curtains 
and was filled with plain glass, affording plenty of 
light. 

“The other windows of the cottage are latticed,” 
said Lambert, seeing his visitor’s eyes wander in that 
direction. “I had that glass put in when I came here 
a month ago. No light can filter through lattices — 
in sufficient quantity that is — to see the true tones of 
the colors.” 

“Oh, bother the window!” muttered Miss Greeby 
restlessly, for she had not yet gained command of her 
emotions. 

Lambert laughed and looked at his picture with his 
head on one side, and a very handsome head it was, 
as Miss Greeby thought. “It bothered me until I had 
it put right, I assure you. But you don’t seem pleased 
with my crib.” 

“It’s not good enough for you.” 

“Since when have I been a sybarite, Clara?” 

“I mean you ought to think of your position.” 

“It’s too unpleasant to think about,” rejoined Lam- 
bert, throwing himself on the couch and producing 
his pipe. “May I smoke?” 

“Yes, and if you have any decent cigarettes I’ll join 
you. Thanks !” She deftly caught the silver case he 
threw her. “But your position ?” 


RED MONEY 


27 


“Five hundred a year and no occupation, since I 
have been brought up to neither trade nor profession,” 
said Lambert leisurely. “Well?” 

“You are the heir to a title and to a large prop- 
erty.” 

“Which is heavily mortgaged. As to the title” — 
Lambert shrugged his shoulders — “Garvington’s wife 
may have children.” 

“I don’t think so. They have been married ten 
years and more. You are certain to come in for every- 
thing.” 

“Everything consists of nothing,” said the artist 
coolly. 

“Well,” drawled Miss Greeby, puffing luxuriously 
at her cigarette, which was Turkish and soothing, 
“nothing may turn into something when these mort- 
gages are cleared off.” 

“ Who is going to clear them off ?” 

“Sir Hubert Pine.” 

Lambert’s brows contracted, as she knew they 
would when this name was mentioned, and he care- 
fully attended to filling his pipe so as to avoid meet- 
ing her hard, inquisitive eyes. “Pine is a man of busi- 
ness, and if he pays off the mortgages he will take 
over the property as security. I don’t see that Gar- 
vington will be any the better off in that case.” 

“Lambert,” said Miss Greeby very decidedly, and 
determined to know precisely what he felt like, 
“Garvington only allowed his sister to marry Sir Hu- 
bert because he was rich. I don’t know for certain, of 
course, but I should think it probable that he made 
an arrangement with Pine to have things put straight 
because of the marriage.” 

“Possible and probable,” said the artist shortly, and 
wincing; “but old friend as you are, Clara, I don’t 


28 


RED MONEY 


see the necessity of talking about business which does 
not concern me. Speak to Garvington. ,, 

“Agnes concerns you.” 

“How objectionably direct you are,” exclaimed 
Lambert in a vexed tone. “And how utterly wrong. 
Agnes does not concern me in the least. I loved her, 
but as she chose to marry Pine, why there's no more 
to be said.” 

“If there was nothing more to be said,” observed 
Miss Greeby shrewdly, “you would not be burying 
yourself here.” 

“Why not? I am fond of nature and art, and my 
income is not enough to permit my living decently 
in London. I had to leave the army because I was so 
poor. Garvington has given me this cottage rent free, 
so I’m jolly enough with my painting and with Mrs. 
Tribb as housekeeper and cook. She’s a perfect dream 
of a cook,” ended Lambert thoughtfully. 

Miss Greeby shook her red head. “You can’t de- 
ceive me.” 

“Who wants to, anyhow?” demanded the man, un- 
consciously American. 

“You do. You wish to make out that you prefer 
to camp here instead of admitting that you would like 
to be at The Manor because Agnes ” 

Lambert jumped up crossly. “Oh, leave Agnes out 
of the question. She is Pine’s wife, so that settles 
things. It’s no use crying for the moon, and ” 

“Then you still wish for the moon,” interpolated the 
woman quickly. 

“Not even you have the right to ask me such a 
question,” replied Lambert in a quiet and decisive 
tone. “Let us change the subject.” 

Miss Greeby pointed to the beautiful face smiling 
on the easel. “I advise you to,” she said significantly. 


RED MONEY \ 


29 


“You seem to have come here to give me good ad- 
vice.” 

“Which you won’t take,” she retorted. 

“Because it isn’t needed.” 

“A man’s a man and a woman’s a woman.” 

“That’s as true as taxes, as Mr. Barkis observed, if 
you are acquainted with the writings of the late 
Charles Dickens. Well?” 

Again Miss Greeby pointed to the picture. “She’s 
very pretty.” 

“I shouldn’t have painted her otherwise.” 

“Oh, then the original of that portrait does exist?” 

“Could you call it a portrait if an original didn’t 
exist?” demanded the young man tartly. “Since you 
want to know so much, you may as well come to the 
gypsy encampment on the verge of the wood and sat- 
isfy yourself.” He threw on a Panama hat, with a 
cross look. “Since when have you come to the conclu- 
sion that I need a dry nurse ?” 

“Oh, don’t talk bosh!” said Miss Greeby vigor- 
ously, and springing to her feet. “You take me at 
the foot of the letter and too seriously. I only came 
here to see how my old pal was getting on.” 

“I’m all right and as jolly as a sandboy. Now are 
you satisfied?” 

“Quite. Only don’t fall in love with the original of 
your portrait.” 

“It’s rather late in the day to warn me,” said Lam- 
bert dryly, “for I have known the girl for six months. 
I met her in a gypsy caravan when on a walking tour, 
and offered to paint her. She is down here with her 
people, and you can see her whenever you have a 
mind to.” 

“There’s no time like the present,” said Miss Gree- 
by, accepting the offer with alacrity. “Come along, 
old boy.” Then, when they stepped out of the cot- 


30 


RED MONEY 


tage garden on to the lawns, she asked pointedly, 
“What is her name?” 

“Chaldea/’ 

“Nonsense. That is the name of the country/’ 

“I never denied that, my dear girl. But Chaldea 
was born in the country whence she takes her name. 
Down Mesopotamia way, I believe. These gypsies 
wander far and wide, you know. She’s very pretty, 
and has the temper of the foul fiend himself. Only 
Kara can keep her in order.” 

“Who is Kara?” 

“A Servian gypsy who plays the fiddle like an angel. 
He’s a crooked-backed, black-faced, hairy ape of a 
dwarf, but highly popular on account of his music. 
Also, he’s crazy about Chaldea, and loves her to dis- 
traction.” 

“Does she love him?” Miss Greeby asked in her 
direct fashion. 

“No,” replied Lambert, coloring under his tan, and 
closed his lips firmly. He was a very presentable fig- 
ure of a man, as he walked beside the unusually tall 
woman. His face was undeniably handsome in a fair 
Saxon fashion, and his eyes were as blue as those of 
Miss Greeby herself, while his complexion was much 
more delicate. In fact, she considered that it was 
much too good a complexion for one of the male sex, 
but admitted inwardly that its possessor was anything 
but effeminate, when he had such a heavy jaw, such a 
firm chin, and such set lips. Lambert, indeed, at first 
sight did indeed look so amiable, as to appear for the 
moment quite weak ; but danger always stiffened him 
into a dangerous adversary, and his face when aroused 
was most unpleasantly fierce. He walked with a 
military swing, his shoulders well set back and his 
head crested like that of a striking serpent. A rough 
and warlike life would have brought out his best 


RED MONEY 


31 


points of endurance, capability to plan and strike 
quickly, and iron decision ; but the want of opportunity 
and the enervating influences of civilized existence, 
made him a man of possibilities. When time, and 
place, and chance offered he could act the hero with 
the best ; but lacking these things he remained innocu- 
ous like gunpowder which has no spark to fire it. 

Thinking of these things, Miss Greeby abandoned 
the subject of Chaldea, and of her possible love for 
Lambert, and exclaimed impulsively, “Why don’t you 
chuck civilization and strike the out-trail?” 

“Why should I?” he asked, unmoved, and rather 
surprised by the change of the subject. "Tm quite 
comfortable here.” 

“Too comfortable,” she retorted with emphasis. 
“This loafing life of just-enough-to-live-on doesn’t 
give you a chance to play the man. Go out and fight 
and colonize and prove your qualities.” 

Lambert’s color rose again, and his eyes sparkled. 
“I would if the chance ” 

“Ah, bah, Hercules and Omphalei” interrupted his 
companion. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Never mind,” retorted Miss Greeby, who guessed 
that he knew what she meant very well. His quick 
flush showed her how he resented this classical allu- 
sion to Agnes Pine. “You’d carry her off if you were 
a man.” 

“Chaldea?” asked Lambert, wilfully misunderstand- 
ing her meaning. 

“If you like. Only don’t try to carry her off at 
night. Garvington says he will shoot any burglar 
who comes along after dark.” 

“I never knew Garvington had anything to do with 
Chaldea.” 


32 RED MONEY 


“Neither did I. Oh, I think you know very well 
what I mean.” 

“Perhaps I do,” said the young man with an angry 
shrug, for really her interference with his affairs 
seemed to be quite unjustifiable. “But I am not going 
to bring a woman I respect into the Divorce Court.” 

“Respect? Love, you mean to say.” 

Lambert stopped, and faced her squarely. “I don’t 
wish to quarrel with you, Clara, as we are very old 
friends. But I warn you that I do possess a temper, 
and if you wish to see it, you are going the best way 
to get what you evidently want. Now, hold your 
tongue and talk of something else. Here is Chaldea.” 

“Watching for you,” muttered Miss Greeby, as the 
slight figure of the gypsy girl was seen advancing 
swiftly. “Ha!” and she snorted suspiciously. 

“Rye!” cried Chaldea, dancing toward the artist. 
“Sarishan rye.” 

Miss Greeby didn’t understand Romany, but the 
look in the girl’s eyes was enough to reveal the truth. 
If Lambert did not love his beautiful model, it was 
perfectly plain that the beautiful model loved Lambert. 

“O baro duvel atch’ pa leste !” said Chaldea, and 
clapped her slim hands. 


CHAPTER III. 


AN UNEXPECTED RECOGNITION. 

“I wish you wouldn’t speak the calo jib to me, 
Chaldea,” said Lambert, smiling on the beautiful eager 
face. “You know I don’t understand it.” 

“Nor I,” put in Miss Greeby in her manly tones. 
“What does Oh baro devil, and all the rest of it 
mean ?” 

“The Great God be with you,” translated Chaldea 
swiftly, “and duvel is not devil as you Gorgios call 
it.” 

“Only the difference of a letter,” replied the Gentile 
lady good-humoredly. “Show us round your camp, 
my good girl.” 

The mere fact that the speaker was in Lambert’s 
company, let alone the offensively patronizing tone in 
which she spoke, was enough to rouse the gypsy girl’s 
naturally hot temper. She retreated and swayed like 
a cat making ready to spring, while her black eyes 
snapped fire in a most unpleasant manner. 

But Miss Greeby was not to be frightened by with- 
ering glances, and merely laughed aloud, showing her 
white teeth. Her rough merriment and masculine 
looks showed Chaldea that, as a rival, she was not to 
be feared, so the angry expression on the dark face 
changed to a wheedling smile. 

“Avali ! Avali ! The Gorgios lady wants her for- 
tune told.” 


33 


34 


RED MONEY 


For the sake of diplomacy Miss Greeby nodded and 
fished in her pocket. “I’ll give you half a crown to 
tell it.” 

“Not me — not me, dear lady. Mother Cockleshell 
is our great witch.” 

“Take me to her then,” replied the other, and rap- 
idly gathered into her brain all she could of Chal- 
dea’s appearance. 

Lambert had painted a very true picture of the 
girl, although to a certain extent he had idealized her 
reckless beauty. Chaldea’s looks had been damaged 
and roughened by wind and rain, by long tramps, and 
by glaring sunshine. Yet she was superlatively hand- 
some with her warm and swarthy skin, under which 
the scarlet blood circled freely. To an oval face, a 
slightly hooked nose and two vermilion lips, rather 
full, she added the glossy black eyes of the true 
Romany, peaked at the corners. Her jetty hair de- 
scended smoothly from under a red handkerchief 
down to her shoulders, and there, at the tips, became 
tangled and curling. Her figure was magnificent, and 
she swayed and swung from the hips with an easy 
grace, which reminded the onlookers of a panther’s 
lithe movements. And there was a good deal of the 
dangerous beast-of-prey beauty about Chaldea, which 
was enhanced by her picturesque dress. This was 
ragged and patched with all kinds of colored cloths 
subdued to mellow tints by wear and weather. Also 
she jingled with coins and beads and barbaric trinkets 
of all kinds. Her hands were perfectly formed, and 
so doubtless were her feet, although these last were 
hidden by heavy laced-up boots. On the whole, she 
was an extremely picturesque figure, quite comforting 
to the artistic eye amidst the drab sameness of latter- 
day civilization. 

“All the same, I suspect she is a sleeping volcano,” 


RED MONEY 


35 


whispered Miss Greeby in her companion’s ear as they 
followed the girl through the camp. 

“Scarcely sleeping,” answered Lambert in the same 
tone. “She explodes on the slightest provocation, and 
not without damaging results.” 

“Well, you ought to know. But if you play with 
volcanic fire you’ll burn more than your clever fin- 
gers.” 

“Pooh ! The girl is only a model.” 

“Ha ! Not much of the lay figure about her, any- 
way.” 

Lambert, according to his custom, shrugged his 
shoulders and did not seek to explain further. If Miss 
Greeby chose to turn her fancies into facts, she was 
at liberty to do so. Besides, her attention was luckily 
attracted by the vivid life of the vagrants which 
hummed and bustled everywhere. The tribe was a 
comparatively large one, and — as Miss Greeby learned 
later — consisted of Lees, Loves, Bucklands, Hernes, 
and others, all mixed up together in one gypsy stew. 
The assemblage embraced many clans, and not only 
were there pure gypsies, but even many diddikai, or 
half-bloods, to be seen. Perhaps the gradually dimin- 
ishing Romany clans found it better to band together 
for mutual benefit than to remain isolated units. But 
the camp certainly contained many elements, and these, 
acting co-operatively, formed a large and somewhat 
reckless community, which justified Garvington’s 
alarm. A raid in the night by one or two, or three, or 
more of these lean, wiry, dangerous-looking outcasts 
was not to be despised. But it must be admitted that, 
in a general way, law and order prevailed in the en- 
campment. 

There were many caravans, painted in gay colors 
and hung round with various goods, such as brushes 
and brooms, goat-skin rugs, and much tinware, to- 


86 


RED MONEY 


gether with baskets of all sorts and sizes. The horses, 
which drew these rainbow-hued vehicles, were pastur- 
ing on the outskirts of the camp, hobbled for the most 
part. Interspersed among the travelling homes stood 
tents great and small, wherein the genuine Romany 
had their abode, but the autumn weather was so fine 
that most of the inmates preferred to sleep in the 
moonshine. Of course, there were plenty of dogs 
quarrelling over bones near various fires, or sleeping 
with one eye open in odd corners, and everywhere 
tumbled and laughed and danced, brown-faced, lithe- 
limbed children, who looked uncannily Eastern. And 
the men, showing their white teeth in smiles, together 
with the fawning women, young and handsome, or old 
and hideously ugly, seemed altogether alien to the 
quiet, tame domestic English landscape. There was 
something prehistoric about the scene, and everywhere 
lurked that sense of dangerous primeval passions held 
in enforced check which might burst forth on the 
very slightest provocation. 

“It’s a migrating tribe of Aryans driven to new 
hunting grounds by hunger or over-population,” said 
Miss Greeby, for even her unromantic nature was 
stirred by the unusual picturesqueness of the scene. 
“The sight qf these people and the reek of their fires 
make me feel like a cave-woman. There is something 
magnificent about this brutal freedom.” 

“Very sordid magnificence,” replied Lambert, rais- 
ing his shoulders. “But I understand your feelings. 
On occasions we all have the nostalgia of the primi- 
tive life at times, and delight to pass from ease to 
hardship.” 

“Well, civilization isn’t much catch, so far as I can 
see,” argued his companion. “It makes men weak- 
lings.” 


RED MONEY 


87 


“Certainly not women/’ he answered, glancing side- 
ways at her Amazonian figure. 

“I agree with you. For some reason, men are go- 
ing down while women are going up, both physically 
and mentally. I wonder what the future of civilized 
races will be.” 

“Here is Mother Cockleshell. Best ask her.” 

The trio had reached a small tent at the very end 
of the camp by this time, snugly set up under a spread- 
ing oak and near the banks of a babbling brook. Their 
progress had not been interrupted by any claims on 
their attention or purses, for a wink from Chaldea 
had informed her brother and sister gypsies that the 
Gentile lady had come to consult the queen of the 
tribe. And, like Lord Burleigh’s celebrated nod, Chal- 
dea’s wink could convey volumes. At all events, Lam- 
bert and his companion were unmolested, and arrived 
in due course before the royal palace. A croaking 
voice announced that the queen was inside her Arab 
tent, and she was crooning some Romany song. Chal- 
dea did not open her mouth, but simply snapped her 
fingers twice or thrice rapidly. The woman within 
must have had marvellously sharp ears, for she im- 
mediately stopped her incantation — the songs sounded 
like one — and stepped forth. 

“Oh !” said Miss Greeby, stepping back, “I am dis- 
appointed.” 

She had every reason to be after the picturesque- 
ness of the camp in general, and Chaldea in particu- 
lar, for Mother Cockleshell looked like a threadbare 
pew-opener, or an almshouse widow who had seen 
better days. Apparently she was very old, for her 
figure had shrivelled up into a diminutive monkey 
form, and she looked as though a moderately high wind 
could blow her about like a feather. Her face was 


38 


RED MONEY 


brown and puckered and lined in a most wonderful 
fashion. Where a wrinkle could be, there a wrinkle 
was, and her nose and chin were of the true nut- 
cracker order, as a witch’s should be. Only her eyes 
betrayed the powerful vitality that still animated the 
tiny frame, for these were large and dark, and had in 
them a piercing look which seemed to gaze not at any 
one, but through and beyond. Her figure, dried like 
that of a mummy, was surprisingly straight for one of 
her ancient years, and her profuse hair was scarcely 
touched with the gray of age. Arrayed in a decent 
black dress, with a decent black bonnet and a black 
woollen shawl, the old lady looked intensely respect- 
able. There was nothing of the picturesque vagrant 
about her. Therefore Miss Greeby, and with every 
reason, was disappointed, and when the queen of the 
woodland spoke she was still more so, for Mother 
Cockleshell did not even interlard her English speech 
with Romany words, as did Chaldea. 

“Good day to you, my lady, and to you, sir,” said 
Mother Cockleshell in a stronger and harsher voice 
than would have been expected from one of her age 
and diminished stature. “I hope I sees you well,” and 
she dropped a curtsey, just like any village dame who 
knew her manners. 

“Oh !” cried Miss Greeby again. “You don’t look 
a bit like a gypsy queen.” 

“Ah, my lady, looks ain’t everything. But I’m a 
true-bred Romany — a Stanley of Devonshire. Gentilla 
is my name and the tent my home, and I can tell for- 
tunes as no one else on the road can.” 

“Avali, and that is true,” put in Chaldea eagerly. 
“Gentilla’s a bori chovihani.” 

“The child means that I am a great witch, my lady,” 
said the old dame with another curtsey. “Though 
she’s foolish to use Romany words to Gentiles as don’t 


RED MONEY 


39 


understand the tongue which the dear Lord spoke in 
Eden’s garden, as the good Book tells us.” 

'‘In what part of the Bible do you find that?” asked 
Lambert laughing. 

"Oh, my sweet gentleman, it ain’t for the likes of 
me to say things to the likes of you,” said Mother 
Cockleshell, getting out of her difficulty very cleverly, 
"but the dear lady wants her fortune told, don’t 
she?” 

"Why don’t you say dukkerin?” 

"I don’t like them wicked words, sir,” answered 
Mother Cockleshell piously. 

"Wicked words,” muttered Chaldea tossing her 
black locks. "And them true Romany as was your 
milk tongue. No wonder the Gentiles don’t fancy 
you a true one of the road. If I were queen of ” 

A vicious little devil flashed out of the old woman’s 
eyes, and her respectable looks changed on the in- 
stant. "Tol yer chib, or I’ll heat the bones of you with 
the fires of Bongo Tern,” she screamed furiously, and 
in a mixture of her mother-tongue and English. "Ja 
pukenus, slut of the gutter,” she shook her fist, and 
Chaldea, with an insulting laugh, moved away. 
"Bengis your see! Bengis your see! And that, my 
generous lady,” she added, turning round with a sud- 
den resumption of her fawning respectability, "means 
'the devil in your heart,’ which I spoke witchly-like to 
the child. Ah; but she’s a bad one.” 

Miss Greeby laughed outright. "This is more like 
the real thing.” 

"Poor Chaldea,” said Lambert. "You’re too hard 
on her, mother.” 

"And you, my sweet gentleman, ain’t hard enough. 
She’ll sell you, and get Kara to put the knife between 
your ribs.” 

"Why should he? I’m not in love with the girl.” 


40 


BED MONEY 


“The tree don’t care for the ivy, but the ivy loves 
the tree/’ said Mother Cockleshell darkly. “You’re 
a good and kind gentleman, and I don’t want to see 
that slut pick your bones.” 

“So I think,” whispered Miss Greeby in his ear. 
“You play with fire.” 

“Aye, my good lady,” said Mother Cockleshell, 
catching the whisper — she had the hearing of a cat. 
“With the fire of Bongo Tern, the which you may call 
The Crooked Land,” and she pointed significantly 
downward. 

“Hell, do you mean?” asked Miss Greeby in her 
bluff way. 

“The Crooked Land we Romany calls it,” insisted 
the old woman. “And the child will go there, for 
her witchly doings.” 

“She’s too good-looking to lose as a model, at all 
events,” said Lambert, hitching his shoulders. “I 
shall leave you to have your fortune told, Clara, and 
follow Chaldea to pacify her.” 

As he went toward the centre of the camp, Miss 
Greeby took a hesitating step as though to follow 
him. In her opinion Chaldea was much too good- 
looking, let alone clever, for Lambert to deal with 
alone. Gentilla Stanley saw the look on the hard face 
and the softening of the hard eyes as the cheeks grew 
rosy red. From this emotion she drew her conclu- 
sions, and she chuckled to think of how true a fortune 
she could tell the visitor on these premises. Mother 
Cockleshell’s fortune-telling was not entirely fraudu- 
lent, but when her clairvoyance was not in working 
order she made use of character-reading with good 
results. 

“Won’t the Gorgios lady have her fortune told?” 
she asked in wheedling tones. “Cross Mother Cockle- 


BED MONEY 


41 


shell’s hand with silver and she’ll tell the coming years 
truly.” 

“Why do they call you Mother Cockleshell?” de- 
manded Miss Greeby, waiving the question of fortune- 
telling for the time being. 

“Bless your wisdom, it was them fishermen at 
Grimsby who did so. I walked the beaches for years 
and told charms and gave witchly spells for fine 
weather. Gentilla Stanley am I called, but Mother 
Cockleshell was their name for me. But the fortune,, 
my tender Gentile ” 

“I don’t want it told,” interrupted Miss Greeby 
abruptly. “I don’ believe in such rubbish.” 

“There is rubbish and there is truth,” said the an- 
cient gypsy darkly. “And them as knows can see 
what’s hidden from others.” 

“Well, you will have an opportunity this afternoon 
of making money. Some fools from The Manor are 
coming to consult you.” 

Mother Cockleshell nodded and grinned to show a 
set of beautifully preserved teeth. “I know The 
Manor,” said she, rubbing her slim hands. “And 
Lord Garvington, with his pretty sister.” 

“Lady Agnes Pine?” asked Miss Greeby. “How 
do you know her?” 

“I’ve been in these parts before, my gentle lady, and 
she was good to me in a sick way. I would have died 
in the hard winter if she hadn’t fed me and nursed me, 
so to speak. I shall love to see her again. To dick a 
puro pal is as commoben as a aushti habben, the 
which, my precious angel, is true Romany for the 
Gentile saying, ‘To see an old friend is as good as a 
fine dinner.’ Avali ! Avali !” she nodded smilingly. “I 
shall be glad to see her, though here I use Romany 
words to you as doesn’t understand the lingo.” 


42 


BED MONEY 


Miss Greeby was not at all pleased to hear Lady 
Agnes praised; as, knowing that Lambert had loved 
her, and probably loved her still, she was jealous 
enough to wish her all possible harm. However, it 
was not diplomatic to reveal her true feelings to 
Mother Cockleshell, lest the old gypsy should repeat 
her words to Lady Agnes, so she turned the conversa- 
tion by pointing to a snow-white cat of great size, who 
stepped daintily out of the tent. “I should think, as a 
witch, your cat ought to be black,” said Miss Greeby. 
Mother Cockleshell screeched like a night-owl and 
hastily pattered some gypsy spell to avert evil. “Why, 
the old devil is black,” she cried. “And why should 
I have him in my house to work evil? This is my 
white ghost.” Her words were accompanied by a 
gentle stroking of the cat. “And good is what she 
brings to my roof-tree. But I don’t eat from white 
dishes, or drink from white mugs. No! No! That 
would be too witchly.” 

Miss Greeby mused. “I have heard something about 
these gypsy superstitions before,” she remarked medi- 
tatively. 

“Avo! Avo! They are in a book written by a 
great Romany Rye. Leland is the name of that rye, 
a gypsy Lee with Gentile land. He added land to the 
lea as he was told by one of our people. Such a nice 
gentleman, kind, and free of his money and clever 
beyond tellings, as I always says. Many a time has 
he sat pal-like with me, and ‘Gentilla/ says he, ‘your’re 
a bori chovihani’ ; and that, my generous lady, is the 
gentle language for a great witch.” 

“Chaldea said that you were that,” observed Miss 
Greeby carelessly. 

“The child speaks truly. Come, cross my hand, 
sweet lady.” 

Miss Greeby passed along half a crown. “I only 


BED MONEY 


43 


desire to know one thing,” she said, offering her palm. 
“Shall I get my wish?” 

Mother Cockleshell peered into the hands, although 
she had already made up her mind what to say. Her 
faculties, sharpened by years of chicanery, told her 
from the look which Miss Greeby had given when 
Lambert followed Chaldea, that a desire to marry the 
man was the wish in question. And seeing how in- 
different Lambert was in the presence of the tall lady. 
Mother Cockleshell had no difficulty in adjusting the 
situation in her own artful mind. “No, my lady,” she 
said, casting away the hand with quite a dramatic ges- 
ture. “You will never gain your wish.” 

Miss Greeby looked angry. “Bah! Your fortune- 
telling is all rubbish, as I have aways thought,” and 
she moved away. 

“Tell me that in six months,” screamed the old 
woman after her. 

“Why six months?” demanded the other, pausing. 

“Ah, that’s a dark saying,” scoffed the gypsy. “Call 
it seven, my hopeful-for-what-you-won’t-get, like the 
cat after the cream, for seven’s a sacred number, and 
the spell is set.” 

“Gypsy jargon, gypsy lies,” muttered Miss Greeby, 
tossing her ruddy mane. “I don’t believe a word. Tell 
me ” 

“There’s no time to say more,” interrupted Mother 
Cockleshell rudely, for, having secured her money, she 
did not think it worth* while to be polite, especially in 
the face of her visitor’s scepticism. “One of our tribe 
— aye, and he’s a great Romany for sure — is coming 
to camp with us. Each minute he may come, and I 
go to get ready a stew of hedgehog, for Gentile words 
I must use to you, who are a Gorgio. And so good 
day to you, my lady,” ended the old hag, again be- 
coming the truly respectable pew-opener. Then she 


44 


BED MONEY 


dropped a curtsey — whether ironical or not, Miss 
Greeby could not tell — and disappeared into the tent, 
followed by the white cat, who haunted her footsteps 
like the ghost she declared it to be. 

Clearly there was nothing more to be learned from 
Mother Cockleshell, who, in the face of her visitor’s 
doubts, had become hostile, so Miss Greeby, dismiss- 
ing the whole episode as over and done with, turned 
her attention toward finding Lambert. With her 
bludgeon under her arm and her hands in the pockets 
of her jacket, she stalked through the camp in quite 
a masculine fashion, not vouchsafing a single reply to 
the greetings which the gypsies gave her. Shortly she 
saw the artist chatting with Chaldea at the beginning 
of the path which led to his cottage. Beside them, on 
the grass, squatted a queer figure. 

It was that of a little man, very much under-sized, 
with a hunch back and a large, dark, melancholy face 
covered profusely with black hair. He wore corduroy 
trousers and clumsy boots — his feet and hands were 
enormous — together with a green coat and a red hand- 
kerchief which was carelessly twisted round his hairy 
throat. On his tangled locks — distressingly shaggy 
and unkempt — he wore no hat, and he looked like a 
brownie, grotesque, though somewhat sad. But even 
more did he resemble an ape — or say the missing link 
— and only his eyes seemed human. These were large, 
dark and brilliant, sparkling like jewels under his elf- 
locks. He sat cross-legged on the sward and hugged 
a fiddle, as though he were nursing a baby. And, no 
doubt, he was as attached to his instrument as any 
mother could be to her child. It was not difficult for 
Miss Greeby to guess that this weird, hairy dwarf 
was the Servian gypsy Kara, of whom Lambert had 
spoken. She took advantage of the knowledge to be 
disagreeable to the girl. 


BED MONEY 


45 


“Is this your husband ?” asked Miss Greeby amiably. 

Chaldea’s eyes flashed and her cheeks grew crim- 
son. “Not at all,” she said contemptuously. “I have 
no rom.” 

“Ah, your are not married?” 

“No,” declared Chaldea curtly, and shot a swift 
glance at Lambert. 

“She is waiting for the fairy prince,” said that young 
gentleman smiling. “And he is coming to this camp 
almost immediately.” 

“Ishmael Hearne is coming,” replied the gypsy. 
“But he is no rom of mine, and never will be.” 

“Who is he, then ?” asked Lambert carelessly. 

“One of the great Romany.” 

Miss Greeby remembered that Mother Cockleshell 
had also spoken of the expected arrival at the camp 
in these terms. “A kind of king?” she asked. 

Chaldea laughed satirically. “Yes; a kind of king,” 
she assented; then turned her back rudely on the 
speaker and addressed Lambert: “I can’t come, rye. 
Ishmael will want to see me. I must wait.” 

“What a nuisance,” said Lambert, looking annoyed. 
“Fancy, Clara. I have an idea of painting these two 
as Beauty and the Beast, or perhaps as Esmeralda and 
Quasimodo. I want them to come to the cottage and 
sit now, but they will wait for this confounded Ish- 
mael.” 

“We can come to-morrow,” put in Chaldea quickly. 
“This afternoon I must dance for Ishmael, and Kara 
must play.” 

“Ishmael will meet with a fine reception,” said Miss 
Greeby, and then, anxious to have a private conver- 
sation with Chaldea so as to disabuse her mind of any 
idea she may have entertained of marrying Lambert, 
she added, “I think I shall stay and see him.” 

“In that case, I shall return to my cottage,” replied 


46 


RED MONEY 


Lambert, sauntering up the pathway, which was 
strewn with withered leaves. 

“When are you coming to The Manor?” called Miss 
Greeby after him. 

“Never! I am too busy,” he replied over his shoul- 
der and disappeared into the wood. This departure 
may seem discourteous, but then Miss Greeby liked to 
be treated like a comrade and without ceremony. That 
is, she liked it so far as other men were concerned, 
but not as regards Lambert. She loved him too much 
to approve of his careless leave-taking, and therefore 
she frowned darkly, as she turned her attention to 
Chaldea. 

The girl saw that Miss Greeby was annoyed, and 
guessed the cause of her annoyance. The idea that 
this red-haired and gaunt woman should love the 
handsome Gorgio was so ludicrous in Chaldea’s eyes 
that she laughed in an ironical fashion. Miss Greeby 
turned on her sharply, but before she could speak 
there was a sound of many voices raised in welcome. 
“Sarishan pal ! Sarishan ba !” cried the voices, and 
Chaldea started. 

“Ishmael !” she said, and ran toward the camp, fol- 
lowed leisurely by Kara. 

Anxious to see the great Romany i whose arrival 
caused all this commotion, Miss Greeby plunged into 
the crowd of excited vagrants. These surrounded a 
black horse, on which sat a slim, dark-faced man of 
the true Romany breed. Miss Greeby stared at him 
and blinked her eyes, as though she could not believe 
what they beheld, while the man waved his hand and 
responded to the many greetings in gypsy language. 
His eyes finally met her own as she stood on the out- 
skirts of the crowd, and he started. Then she knew. 
“Sir Hubert Pine,” said Miss Greeby, still staring. 
“Sir Hubert Pine !” 


CHAPTER IV. 


SECRETS. 

The shouting crowd apparently did not catch the 
name, so busy were one and all in welcoming the 
newcomer. But the man on the horse saw Miss Gree- 
by’s startled look, and noticed that her lips were mov- 
ing. In a moment he threw himself off the animal 
and elbowed his way roughly through the throng. 

“Sir Hubert/' began Miss Greeby, only to be cut 
short hastily. 

“Don’t give me away,” interrupted Pine, who here 
was known as Ishmael Hearne. “Wait till I settle 
things, and then we can converse privately.” 

“All right,” answered the lady, nodding, and gripped 
her bludgeon crosswise behind her back with two 
hands. She was so surprised at the sight of the mil- 
lionaire in the wood, that she could scarcely speak. 

Satisfied that she grasped the situation, Pine turned 
to his friends and spoke at length in fluent Romany. 
He informed them that he had some business to trans- 
act with the Gentile lady who had come to the camp 
for that purpose, and would leave them for half an 
hour. The man evidently was such a favorite that 
black looks were cast on Miss Greeby for depriving 
the Romany of his society. But Pine paid no atten- 
tion to these signs of discontent. He finished his 
speech, and then pushed his way again toward the 
lady who, awkwardly for him, was acquainted with his 
true position as a millionaire. In a hurried whisper 

47 


48 


RED MONEY 


he asked Miss Greeby to follow him, and led the way 
into the heart of the wood. Apparently he knew it 
very well, and knew also where to seek solitude for 
the private conversation he desired, for he skirted the 
central glade where Lambert’s cottage was placed, and 
finally guided his companion to a secluded dell, far 
removed from the camp of his brethren. Here he sat 
down on a mossy stone, and stared with piercing black 
eyes at Miss Greeby. 

“What are you doing here?” he demanded imperi- 
ously. 

“Just the question I was about to put to you,” said 
Miss Greeby amiably. She could afford to be amiable, 
for she felt that she was the mistress of the situation. 
Pine evidently saw this, for he frowned. 

“You must have guessed long ago that I was a 
gypsy,” he snapped restlessly. 

“Indeed I didn’t, nor, I should think, did any one 
else. I thought you had nigger blood in you, and I 
have heard people say that you came from the West 
Indies. But what does it matter if you are a gypsy? 
There is no disgrace in being one.” 

“No disgrace, certainly,” rejoined the millionaire, 
leaning forward and linking his hands together, while 
he stared at the ground. “I am proud of having the 
gentle Romany blood. All the same I prefer the 
West Indian legend, for I don’t want any of my civ- 
ilized friends to know that I am Ishmael Hearne, born 
and bred in a tent.” 

“Well, that’s natural, Pine. What would Garving- 
ton say?” 

“Oh, curse Garvington!” 

“Curse the whole family by all means,” retorted 
Miss Greeby coolly. 

Pine looked up savagely, “I except my wife.” 

“Naturally. You always were uxorious.” 


RED MONEY 


49 


“Perhaps,” said Pine gloomily, “Pm a fool where 
Agnes is concerned.” 

Miss Greeby quite agreed with this statement, but 
did not think it worth while to indorse so obvious a 
remark. She sat down in her turn, and taking Lam- 
bert’s cigarette case, which she had retained by acci- 
dent, out of her pocket, she prepared to smoke. The 
two were entirely alone in the fairy dell, and the trees 
which girdled it were glorious with vivid autumnal 
tints. A gentle breeze sighing through the wood, 
shook down yew, crisp leaves on the woman’s head, 
so that she looked like Danae in a shower of gold. 
Pine gazed heavily at the ground and coughed vio- 
lently. Miss Greeby knew that cough, and a medical 
friend of hers had told her several times that Sir Hu- 
bert was a very consumptive individual. He certainly 
looked ill, and apparently had not long to live. And 
if he died, Lady Agnes, inheriting his wealth, would 
be more desirable as a wife than ever. And Miss 
Greeby, guessing whose wife she would be, swore 
inwardly that the present husband should look so deli- 
cate. But she showed no sign of her perturbations, 
but lighted her cigarette with a steady hand and 
smoked quietly. She always prided herself on her 
nerve. 

The millionaire was tall and lean, with a sinewy 
frame, and an oval, olive-complexioned face. It was 
clean-shaven, and with his aquiline nose, his thin lips, 
and brilliant black eyes, which resembled those of 
Kara, he looked like a long-descended Hindoo prince. 
The Eastern blood of the Romany showed in his nar- 
row feet and slim brown hands, and there was a wild 
roving look about him, which Miss Greeby had not 
perceived in London. 

“I suppose it’s the dress,” she said aloud, and eyed 
Pine critically. 


50 


RED MONEY 


“What do you say, Miss Greeby?” he asked, look- 
ing up in a sharp, startled manner, and again cough- 
ing in a markedly consumptive way. 

“The cowl makes the monk in your case,” replied 
the woman quietly. “Your corduroy breeches and 
velveteen coat, with that colored shirt, and the yellow 
handkerchief round your neck, seem to suit you better 
than did the frock coats and evening dress I have seen 
you in. You did look like a nigger of sorts when in 
those clothes ; now I can tell you are a gypsy with half 
an eye.” 

“That is because you heard me called Ishmael and 
saw me among my kith and kin,” said the man with a 
tired smile. “Don’t tell Agnes.” 

“Why should I? It’s none of my business if you 
chose to masquerade as a gypsy.” 

“I masquerade as Sir Hubert Pine,” retorted the 
millionaire, slipping off the stone to sprawl full-length 
on the grass. “I am truly and really one of the lot in 
the camp yonder.” 

“Do they know you by your Gentile name ?” 

Pine laughed. “You are picking up the gypsy lingo, 
Miss Greeby. No. Every one on the road takes me 
for what I am, Ishmael Hearne, and my friends in the 
civilized world think I am Sir Hubert Pine, a million- 
aire with colored blood in his veins.” 

“How do you come to have a double personality 
and live a double life?” 

“Oh, that is easily explained, and since you have 
found me out it is just as well that I should explain, 
so that you may keep my secret, at all events from 
my wife, as she would be horrified to think that she 
had married a gypsy. You promise?” 

“Of course. I shall say nothing. But perhaps she 
would prefer to know that she had married a gypsy 
rather than a nigger.” 


RED MONEY 


51 


“What polite things you say,” said Pine sarcastically. 
“However, I can’t afford to quarrel with you. As you 
are rich, I can’t even bribe you to silence, so I must 
rely on your honor.” 

“Oh, I have some,” Miss Greeby assured him 
lightly. 

“When it suits you,” he retorted doubtfully. 

“It does on this occasion.” 

“Why?” 

“I’ll tell you that when you have related your story.” 

“There is really none to tell. I was born and 
brought up on the road, and thinking I was wasting 
my life I left my people and entered civilization. In 
London I worked as a clerk, and being clever I soon 
made money. I got hold of a man who invented 
penny toys, and saw the possibilities of making a for- 
tune. I really didn’t, but I collected enough money to 
dabble in stocks and shares. The South African boom 
was on, and I made a thousand. Other speculations 
created more than a million out of my thousand, and 
now I have over two millions, honestly made.” 

“Honestly?” queried Miss Greeby significantly. 

“Yes; I assure you, honestly. We gypsies are 
cleverer than you Gentiles, and we have the same 
money-making faculties as the Jews have. If my 
people were not so fond of the vagrant life they would 
soon become a power in the money markets of the 
world. But, save in the case of myself, we leave all 
such grubbing to the Jews. I did grub, and my re- 
ward is that I have accumulated a fortune in a re- 
markably short space of time. I have land and houses, 
and excellent investments, and a title, which,” he 
added sarcastically, “a grateful Government bestowed 
on me for using my money properly.” 

“You bought the title by helping the political party 


52 


RED MONEY 


you belonged to,” said Miss Greeby with a shrug. 
“There was quite a talk about it.” 

“So there was. As if I cared for talk. However, 
that is my story.” 

“Not all of it. You are supposed to be in Paris, 

and 

“And you find me here,” interrupted Pine with a 
faint smile. “Well you see, being a gypsy, I can’t 
always endure that under-the-roof life you Gentiles 
live. I must have a spell of the open road occasion- 
ally. And, moreover, as my doctor tells me that I have 
phthisis, and that I should live as much as possible 
in the open air, I kill two birds with one stone, as the 
saying is. My health benefits by my taking up the 
old Romany wandering, and I gratify my nostalgia for 

the tent and the wild. You understand, you und ” 

His speech was interrupted by a fresh fit of coughing. 

“It doesn’t seem to do you much good this gypsy- 
ing,” said Miss Greeby with a swift look, for his life 
was of importance to her plans. “You look pretty 
rocky I can tell you, Pine. And if you die your wife 

will be free to ” The man sat up and took away 

from his mouth a handkerchief spotted with blood. 
His eyes glittered, and he showed his white teeth. 
“My wife will be free to what?” he demanded vi- 
ciously, and the same devil that had lurked in Mother 
Cockleshell’s eye, now showed conspicuously in his. 

Miss Greeby had no pity on his manifest distress 
and visible wrath, but answered obliquely : “You 
know that she was almost engaged to her cousin be- 
fore you married her,” she hinted pointedly. 

“Yes, I know, d him,” said Pine with a groan, 

and rolled over to clutch at the grass in a vicious 
manner. “But he’s not at The Manor now?” 

“No.” 

“Agnes doesn’t speak of him?” 


RED MONEY 


53 


“No.” 

Pine drew a deep breath and rose slowly to his feet, 
with a satisfied nod. 

“Pm glad of that. She’s a good woman is Agnes, 
and would never encourage him in any way. She 
knows what is due to me. I trust her.” 

“Do you? When your secretary is also stopping 
at The Manor?” 

“Silver!” Pine laughed awkwardly, and kicked at 
a tuft of moss. “Well I did ask him to keep an eye on 
her, although there is really no occasion. Silver owes 
me a great deal, since I took him out of the gutter. If 
Lambert worried my wife, Silver would let me know, 
and then ” 

“And then?” asked Miss Greeby hastily. 

The man clenched his fists and his face grew 
fetormy, as his blood untamed by civilization surged 
redly to the surface. “I’d twist his neck, I’d smash 
his skull, I’d — I’d — I’d — oh, don’t ask me what I’d 
do.” 

“I should keep my temper if I were you,” Miss 
Greeby warned him, and alarmed by the tempest 
she had provoked. She had no wish for the man 
she loved to come into contact with this savage, 
veneered by civilization. Yet Lambert was in the 
neighborhood, and almost within a stone’s throw of 
the husband who was so jealous of him. “Keep your 
temper,” repeated Miss Greeby. 

“Is there anything else you would like me to do?” 
raged Pine fiercely. 

“Yes. Leave this place if you wish to keep the se- 
cret of your birth from your wife. Lady Garvington 
and Mrs. Belgrove, and a lot of people from The 
Manor, are coming to the camp to get their fortunes 
told. You are sure to be spotted.” 


54 


RED MONEY 


“I shall keep myself out of sight/’ said Pine sul- 
lenly and suspiciously. 

“Some of your gypsy friends may let the cat out of 
the bag.” 

“Not one of them knows there is a cat in the bag. 

I am Ishmael Hearne to them, and nothing else. But 
I shan’t stay here long.” 

“I wonder you came at all, seeing that your wife is 
with her brother.” 

“In the daring of my coming lies my safety,” said 
Pine tartly. “I know what I am doing. As to Lam- 
bert, if he thinks to marry my wife when I am dead he 
is mistaken.” 

“Well, I hope you won’t die, for my sake!” 

“Why for your sake?” asked Pine sharply. 

“Because I love Lambert and I want to marry him.” 

“Marry him,” said the millionaire hoarsely, “and 
I’ll give you thousands of pounds. Oh ! I forgot that 
you have a large income. But marry him, marry him. 
Miss Greeby. I shall help you all I can.” 

“I can do without assistance,” said the woman 
coolly. “All I ask you to do is to refrain from fight- 
ing with Lambert.” 

“What?” Pine’s face became lowering again. “Is 
he at The Manor? You said ” 

“I know what I said. He is not at The Manor, but 
he is stopping in the cottage a stone’s throw from 
here.” 

Pine breathed hard, and again had a spasm of cough- 
ing. “What’s he doing?” 

“Painting pictures.” 

“He has not been near The Manor?” 

“No. And what is more, he told me to-day that 
he did not intend to go near the house. I don’t think 
you need be afraid, Pine. Lambert is a man of honor, 
and I hope to get him to be my husband.” 


RED MONEY 


55 


“He shall never be my wife’s husband,” said the 
millionaire between his teeth and scowling heavily. “I 
know that I shan’t live to anything like three score 
and ten. Your infernal hot-house civilization has killed 
me. But if Lambert thinks to marry my widow he 
shall do so in the face of Garvington’s opposition, and 
will find Agnes a pauper.” 

“What do you mean exactly?” Miss Greeby flung 
away the stump of her cigarette and rose to her feet. 

Pine wiped his brow and breathed heavily. “I mean 
that I have left Agnes my money, only on condition 
that she does not marry Lambert. She can marry any 
one else she has a mind to. I except her cousin.” 

“Because she loves him?” 

“Yes, and because he loves her, d — n him.” 

“He doesn’t,” cried Miss Greeby, lying fluently, and 
heartily wishing that her lie could be a truth. “He 
loves me, and I intend to marry him. Now you can 
understand what I meant when I declared that I had 
honor enough to keep your secret. Lambert is my 
honor.” 

“Oh, then I believe in your honor,” sneered Pine 
cynically. “It is a selfish quality in this case, which 
can only be gratified by preserving silence. If Agnes 
knew that I was a true Romany tramp, she might run 
away with Lambert, and as you want him to be your 
husband, it is to your interest to hold your tongue. 
Thank you for nothing. Miss Greeby.” 

“I tell you Lambert loves me,” cried the woman 
doggedly, trying to persuade her heart that she spoke 
truly. “And whether you leave your money to your 
wife, or to any one else, makes no manner of differ- 
ence.” 

“I think otherwise,” he retorted. “And it is just 
as well to be on the safe side. If my widow marries 
Lambert, she loses my millions, and they go to ” 


56 


RED MONEY 


He checked himself abruptly. '‘Never mind who gets 
them. It is a person in whom you can take no manner 
of interest.” 

Miss Greeby pushed the point of her bludgeon into 
the spongy ground, and looked thoughtful. “If Lam- 
bert loves Agnes still, which I don’t believe,” she ob- 
served, after a pause, “he would marry her even if 
she hadn’t a shilling. Your will excluding him as her 
second husband is merely the twisting of a rope of 
sand, Pine.” 

“You forget,” said the man quickly, “that I declared 
also, he would have to marry her in the face of Gar- 
vington’s opposition.” 

“In what way?” 

“Can’t you guess? Garvington only allowed me to 
marry his sister because I am a wealthy man. I abso- 
lutely bought my wife by helping him, and she gave 
herself to me without love to save the family name 
from disgrace. She is a good woman, is Agnes, and 
always places duty before inclination. Marriage with 
her pauper cousin meant practically the social extinc- 
tion of the Lambert family, and nothing would have 
remained but the title. Therefore she married me, 
and I felt mean at the time in accepting the sacrifice. 
But I was so deeply in love with her that I did so. I 
love her still, and I am mean enough still to be jealous 
of this cousin. She shall never marry him, and I know 
that Garvington will appeal to his sister’s strong desire 
to save the family once more ; so that she may not be 
foolish enough to lose the money. And two millions, 
more or less,” ended Pine cynically, “is too large a 
sum to pay for a second husband.” 

“Does Agnes know these conditions?” 

“No. Nor do I intend that she should know. You 
hold your tongue.” 

Miss Greeby pulled on her heavy gloves and nodded. 


BED MONEY 


57 


“I told you that I had some notion of honor. Will 
you let Lambert know that you are in this neighbor- 
hood ?” 

“No. There is no need. I am stopping here only 
for a time to see a certain person. Silver will look 
after Agnes, and is coming to the camp to report upon 
what he has observed.” 

“Silver then knows that you are Ishmael Hearne?” 

“Yes. He knows all my secrets, and I can trust 
him thoroughly, since he owes everything to me.” 

Miss Greeby laughed scornfully. “That a man of 
your age and experience should believe in gratitude. 
Well, it’s no business of mine. You may be certain 
that for my own purpose I shall hold my tongue and 
shall keep Lambert from seeking your wife. Not 
that he loves her,” she added hastily, as Pine’s brows 
again drew together. “But she loves him, and may 
use her arts ” 

“Don’t you dare to speak of arts in connection with 
my wife,” broke in the man roughly. “She is no co- 
quette, and I trust her ” 

“So long as Silver looks after her,” finished Miss 
Greeby contemptuously. “What chivalrous confidence. 
Well, I must be going. Any message to your ” 

“No! No! No!” broke in Pine once more. “She 
is not to know that I am here, or anything about my 
true position and name. You promised, and you will 
keep your promise. But there, I know that you will, as 
self-interest will make you.” 

“Ah, now you talk common sense. It is a pity you 
don’t bring it to bear in the case of Silver, whom you 
trust because you have benefited him. Good-day, you 
very unsophisticated person. I shall see you 
again ” 

“In London as Hubert Pine,” said the millionaire 
abruptly, and Miss Greeby, with a good-humored 


58 


RED MONEY 


shrug, marched away, swinging her stick and whistling 
gayly. She was very well satisfied with the knowl- 
edge she had obtained, as the chances were that it 
would prove useful should Lambert still hanker after 
the unattainable woman. Miss Greeby had lulled 
Pine’s suspicions regarding the young man’s love for 
Agnes, but she knew in her heart that she had only 
done so by telling a pack of miserable lies. Now, as 
she walked back to The Manor, she reflected that by 
using her secret information dexterously, she might 
improve such falsehood into tolerable truth. 

Pine flung himself down again when she departed, 
and coughed in his usual violent manner. His throat 
and lungs ached, and his brow was wet with perspira- 
tion. With his elbows on his knees and his face be- 
tween his hands, he sat miserably thinking over his 
troubles. There was no chance of his living more than 
a few years, as the best doctors in Europe and Eng- 
land had given him up, and when he was placed below 
ground, the chances were that Agnes would marry his 
rival. He had made things as safe as was possible 
against such a contingency, but who knew if her love 
for Lambert might not make her willing to surrender 
the millions. “Unless Garvington can manage to 
arouse her family pride,” groaned Pine drearily. “She 
sacrificed herself before for that, and perhaps she will 
do so again. But who knows?” And he could find 
no answer to this question, since it is impossible for 
any man to say what a woman will do where her deep- 
est emotions are concerned. 

A touch on Pine’s shoulder made him leap to his feet 
with the alertness of a wild animal on the lookout for 
danger. By his side stood Chaldea, and her eyes glit- 
tered, as she came to the point of explanation without 
any preamble. The girl was painfully direct. “I have 


RED MONEY 


59 


heard every word/’ she said triumphantly. “And I 
know what you are, brother.” 

“Why did you come here'?” demanded Pine sharply, 
and frowning. 

“I wanted to hear what a Romany had to do with a 
Gorgio lady, brother. And what do I hear. Why, 
that you dwell in the Gentile houses, and take a Gen- 
tile name, and cheat in a Gentile manner, and have 
wed with a Gentile romi. Speaking Romanly, brother, 
it is not well.” 

“It is as I choose, sister,” replied Pine quietly, for 
since Chaldea had got the better of him, it was useless 
to quarrel with her. “And from what I do good will 
come to our people.” 

Chaldea laughed, and blew from her fingers a 
feather, carelessly picked up while in the thicket which 
had concealed her eavesdropping. “For that, I care 
that,” said she, pointing to the floating feather slowly 
settling. “I looks to myself and to my love, brother.” 

“Hey?” Pine raised his eyebrows. 

“It’s a Gorgio my heart is set on,” pursued Chaldea 
steadfastly. “A regular Romany Rye, brother. Do 
you think Lambert is a good name?” 

“IPs the name of the devil, sister,” cried Pine 
hastily. 

“The very devil I love. To me sweet, as to you sour. 
And speaking Romanly, brother, I want him to be my 
rom in the Gentile fashion, as you have a romi in your 
Gorgiaus lady.” 

“What will Kara say?” said Pine, and his eyes 
flashed, for the idea of getting rid of Lambert in this 
way appealed to him. The girl was beautiful, and with 
her added cleverness she might be able to gain her 
ends, and these accomplished, would certainly place a 
barrier between Agnes and her cousin, since the 


60 


RED MONEY 


woman would never forgive the man for preferring 
the girl. 

“Kara plays on the fiddle, but not on my heart- 
strings, said Chaldea in a cool manner, and watched 
Pine wickedly. “You’d better help me, brother, if you 
don’t want that Gorgious romi of yours to pad the 
hoof with the rye.” 

The blood rushed to Pine’s dark cheeks. “What’s 
that?” 

“No harm to my rye and I tell you, brother. Don’t 
use the knife.” 

“That I will not do, if a wedding-ring from him to 
you will do as well.” 

“It will do, brother,” said Chaldea calmly. “My 
rye doesn’t love me yet, but he will, when I get him 
away from the Gentile lady’s spells. They draw him, 
brother, they draw him.” 

“Where do they draw him to ?” demanded Pine, his 
voice thick with passion. 

“To the Gorgious house of the baro rai, the brother 
of your romi. Like an owl does he go after dusk to 
watch the nest.” 

“Owl,” muttered Pine savagely. “Cuckoo, rather. 
Prove this, my sister, and I help you to gain the love 
you desire.” 

“It’s a bargain, brother” — she held out her hand in- 
quiringly — “but no knife.” 

Pine shook hands. “It’s a bargain, sister. Your 
wedding-ring will part them as surely as any knife. 
Tell me more!” And Chaldea in whispers told him 
all. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE WOMAN AND THE MAN. 

Quite unaware that Destiny, that tireless spinner, 
was weaving sinister red threads of hate and love into 
the web of his life, Lambert continued to live quietly 
in his woodland retreat. In a somewhat misanthropic 
frame of mind he had retired to this hermitage, after 
the failure of his love affair, since, lacking the society 
of Agnes, there was nothing left for him to desire. 
From a garden of roses, the world became a sandy 
desert, and denied the sole gift of fortune, which 
would have made him completely happy, the discon- 
solate lover foreswore society for solitude. As some 
seek religion, so Lambert hoped by seeking Nature’s 
breast to assuage the pains of his sore heart. But 
although the great Mother could do so much, she could 
not do all, and the young man still felt restless and 
weary. Hard work helped him more than a little, 
but he had his dark hours during those intervals when 
hand and brain were too weary to create pictures. 

In one way he blamed Agnes, because she had mar- 
ried for money ; in another way he did not blame her, 
because that same money had been necessary to sup- 
port the falling fortunes of the noble family to 
which Lambert belonged. An ordinary person would 
not have understood this, and would have seen in the 
mercenary marriage simply a greedy grasping after 
the loaves and fishes. But Lambert, coming at the 
end of a long line of lordly ancestors, considered that 
61 


62 


EED MONEY 


both he and his cousin owed something to those of the 
past who had built up the family. Thus his pride told 
him that Agnes had acted rightly in taking Pine as 
her husband, while his love cried aloud that the sacri- 
fice was too hard upon their individual selves. He 
was a Lambert, but he was also a human being, and 
the two emotions of love and pride strove mightily 
against one another. Although quite three years had 
elapsed since the victim had been offered at the altar — « 
and a willing victim to the family fetish — the struggle 
was still going on. And because of its stress and 
strain, Lambert withdrew from society, so that he 
might see as little as possible of the woman he loved. 
They had met, they had talked, they had looked, in a 
conventionally light-hearted way, but both were re- 
lieved when circumstances parted them. The strain 
was too great. 

Pine arranged the circumstances, for hearing here, 
there, and everywhere, that his wife had been practi- 
cally engaged to her cousin before he became her hus- 
band, he looked with jealous eyes upon their chance 
meetings. Neither to Agnes nor Lambert did he say a 
single word, since he had no reason to utter it, so 
scrupulously correct was their behavior, but his eyes 
were sufficiently eloquent to reveal his jealousy. He 
took his wife for an American tour, and when he 
brought her back to London, Lambert, knowing only 
too truly the reason for that tour, had gone away in 
his turn to shoot big game in Africa. An attack of 
malaria contracted in the Congo marshes had driven 
him back to England, and it was then that he had 
begged Garvington to give him The Abbot’s Wood 
Cottage. For six months he had been shut up here, 
occasionally going to London, or for a week’s walking 
tour, and during that time he had done his best to 
banish the image of Agnes from his heart. Doubtless 


RED MONEY 


63 


she was attempting the same conquest, for she never 
even wrote to him. And now these two sorely-tried 
people were within speaking distance of one another, 
and strange results might be looked for unless honor 
held them sufficiently true. Seeing that the cottage 
was near the family seat, and that Agnes sooner or 
later would arrive to stay with her brother and sister- 
in-law, Lambert might have expected that such a situa- 
tion would come about in the natural course of things. 
Perhaps he did, and perhaps — as some busybodies said 
— he took the cottage for that purpose ; but so far, he 
had refrained from seeking the society of Pine’s wife. 
He would not even dine at The Manor, nor would he 
join the shooting-party, although Garvington, with a 
singular blindness, urged him to do so. While day- 
light lasted, the artist painted desperately hard, and 
after dark wandered round the lanes and roads and 
across the fields, haunting almost unconsciously the 
Manor Park, if only to see in moonlight and twilight 
the casket which held the rich jewel he had lost. This 
was foolish, and Lambert acknowledged that it was 
foolish, but at the same time he added inwardly that 
he was a man and not an angel, a sinner and not a 
saint, so that there were limits, etc., etc., etc., using 
impossible arguments to quieten a lively conscience 
that did not approve of this dangerous philandering. 

The visit of Miss Greeby awoke him positively to 
a sense of danger, for if she talked — and talk she did — 
other people would talk also. Lambert asked himself 
if it would be better to visit The Manor and behave 
like a man who has got over his passion, or to leave 
the cottage and betake himself to London. While 
turning over this problem in his mind, he painted 
feverishly, and for three days after Miss Greeby had 
come to stir up muddy water, he remained as much as 
possible in his studio. Chaldea visited him, as usual, 


64 


RED MONEY 


to be painted, and brought Kara with his green coat 
and beloved violin and hairy looks. The girl chatted, 
Kara played, and Lambert painted, and all three pre- 
tended to be very happy and careless. This was merely 
on the surface, however, for the artist was desperately 
wretched, because the other half of himself was mar- 
ried to another man, while Chaldea, getting neither 
lovelook nor caress, felt savagely discontented. As 
for Kara, he had long since loved Chaldea, who treated 
him like a dog, and he could not help seeing that she 
adored the Gentile artist — a knowledge which almost 
broke his heart. But it was some satisfaction for him 
to note that Lambert would have nothing to do with 
the siren, and that she could not charm him to her 
feet, sang she ever so tenderly. It was an unhappy 
trio at the best. 

The gypsies usually came in the morning, since the 
light was then better for artistic purposes, but they 
always departed at one o’clock, so that Lambert had 
the afternoon to himself. Chaldea would fain have 
lingered in order to charm the man she loved into 
subjection; but he never gave her the least encourage- 
ment, so she was obliged to stay away. All the same, 
she often haunted the woods near the cottage, and 
when Lambert came out for a stroll, which he usually 
did when it became too dark to paint, he was bound 
to run across her. Since he had not the slightest de- 
sire to make love to her, and did not fathom the depth 
of her passion, he never suspected that she purposely 
contrived the meetings which he looked upon as acci- 
dental. 

Since Chaldea hung round the house, like a moth 
round a candle, she saw every one who came and went 
from the woodland cottage. On the afternoon of the 
third day since Pine’s arrival at the camp in the char- 
acter of Ishmael Hearne, the gypsy saw Lady Agnes 


EED MONEY 65 


coming through the wood. Chaldea knew her at once, 
having often seen her when she had come to visit 
Mother Cockleshell a few months previously. With 
characteristic cunning, the girl dived into the under- 
growth, and there remained concealed for the purpose 
of spying on the Gentile lady whom she regarded as a 
rival. Immediately, Chaldea guessed that Lady Agnes, 
was on her way to the cottage, and, as Lambert was 
alone as usual for the afternoon, the two would prob- 
ably have a private conversation. The girl swiftly 
determined to listen, so that she might learn exactly 
how matters stood between them. It might be that 
she would discover something which Pine — Chaldea 
now thought of him as Pine — might like to know. So 
having arranged this in her own unscrupulous mind, 
the girl behind a juniper bush jealously watched the 
unsuspecting lady. What she saw did not please her 
overmuch, as Lady Agnes was rather too beautiful for 
her unknown rival’s peace of mind. 

Sir Hubert’s wife was not really the exquisitely 
lovely creature Chaldea took her to be, but her fair 
skin and brown hair were such a contrast to thq 
gypsy’s swarthy face and raven locks, that she really 
looked like an angel of light compared with the dark 
child of Nature. Agnes was tall and slender, and 
moved with a great air of dignity and calm self-pos- 
session, and this to the uncontrolled Chaldea was also 
a matter of offence. She inwardly tried to belittle her 
rival by thinking what a milk-and-water useless per- 
son she was, but the steady and resolute look in the 
lady’s brown eyes gave the lie to this mental asser- 
tion. Lady Agnes had an air of breeding and com- 
mand, which, with all her beauty, Chaldea lacked, and 
as she passed along like a cold, stately goddess, the 
gypsy rolled on the grass in an ecstasy of rage. She 
could never be what her rival was, and what her rival 


66 


RED MONEY 


was, as she suspected, formed Lambert’s ideal of wom- 
anhood. When she again peered through the bush, 
Lady Agnes had disappeared. But there was no need 
for Chaldea to ask her jealous heart where she had 
gone. With the stealth and cunning of a Red Indian, 
the gypsy took up the trail, and saw the woman she 
followed enter the cottage. For a single moment she 
had it in her mind to run to the camp and bring Pine, 
but reflecting that in a moment of rage the man might 
kill Lambert, Chaldea checked her first impulse, and 
bent all her energies towards getting sufficiently near 
to listen to a conversation which was not meant for 
her ears. 

Meanwhile, Agnes had been admitted by Mrs. Tribb, 
a dried-up little woman with the rosy face of a winter 
apple, and a continual smile of satisfaction with her- 
self and with her limited world. This consisted of the 
cottage, in the wood, and of the near villages, where 
she repaired on occasions to buy food. Sometimes, 
indeed, she went to The Manor, for, born and bred 
on the Garvington estates, Mrs. Tribb knew all the 
servants at the big house. She had married a game- 
keeper, who had died, and unwilling to leave the coun- 
try she knew best, had gladly accepted the offer of 
Lord Garvington to look after the woodland cottage. 
In this way Lambert became possessed of an exceed- 
ingly clean housekeeper, and a wonderfully good cook. 
In fact so excellent a cook was Mrs. Tribb, that Gar- 
vington had frequently suggested she should come to 
The Manor. But, so far, Lambert had managed to 
keep the little woman to himself. Mrs. Tribb adored 
him, since she had known him from babyhood, and 
declined to leave him under any circumstances. She 
thought Lambert the best man in the world, and chal- 
lenged the universe to find another so handsome and 
clever, and so considerate. 


RED MONEY 


67 


“Dear me, my lady, is it yourself ?” said Mrs. Tribb, 
throwing up her dry little hands and dropping a dig- 
nified curtsey. “Well, I do call it good of you to 
come and see Master Noel. He don’t go out enough, 
and don’t take enough interest in his stomach, if your 
ladyship will pardon my mentioning that part of him. 
But you don’t know, my lady, what it is to be a cook, 
and to see the dishes get cold, while he as should eat 
them goes on painting, not but what Master Noel don’t 
paint like an angel, as I’ve said dozens of times.” 

While Mrs. Tribb ran on in this manner her lively 
black eyes twinkled anxiously. She knew that her 
master and Lady Agnes had been, as she said herself, 
“next door to engaged,” and knew also that Lambert 
was fretting over the match which had been brought 
about for the glorification of the family. The house- 
keeper, therefore, wondered why Lady Agnes had 
come, and asked herself whether it would not be wise 
to say that Master Noel — from old associations, she 
always called Lambert by this juvenile title — was not 
at home. But she banished the thought as unworthy, 
the moment it entered her active brain, and with an- 
other curtsey in response to the visitor’s greeting, she 
conducted her to the studio. “Them two angels will 
never do no wrong, anyhow,” was Mrs. Tribb’s reflec- 
tion, as she closed the door and left the pair together. 
“But I do hope as that black-faced husband won’t ever 
learn. He’s as jealous as Cain, and I don’t want Mas- 
ter Noel to be no Abel !” 

If Mrs. Tribb, instead of going to the kitchen, 
which she did, had gone out of the front door, she 
would have found Chaldea lying full length amongst 
the flowers under the large window of the studio. 
This was slightly open, and the girl could hear every 
word that was spoken, while so swiftly and cleverly 
had she gained her point of vantage, that those within 


68 


RED MONEY 


never for one moment suspected her presence. If 
they had, they would assuredly have kept better guard 
over their tongues, for the conversation was of the 
most private nature, and did not tend to soothe the 
eavesdropper’s jealousy. 

Lambert was so absorbed in his painting — he was 
working at the Esmeralda-Quasimodo picture — that 
he scarcely heard the studio door open, and it was 
only when Mrs. Tribb’s shrill voice announced the 
name of his visitor, that he woke to the surprising 
fact that the woman he loved was within a few feet 
of him. The blood rushed to his face, and then re- 
tired to leave him deadly pale, but Agnes was more 
composed, and did not let her heart’s tides mount to 
high-water mark. On seeing her self-possession, the 
man became ashamed that he had lost his own, and 
strove to conceal his momentary lapse into a natural 
emotion, by pushing forward an arm-chair. 

“This is a surprise, Agnes,” he said in a voice which 
he strove vainly to render steady. “Won’t you sit 
down ?” 

“Thank you,” and she took her seat like a queen 
on her throne, looking fair and gracious as any white 
lily. What with her white dress, white gloves and 
shoes, and straw hat tied under her chin with a broad 
white ribbon in old Georgian fashion, she looked won- 
derfully cool, and pure, and — as Lambert inwardly 
observed — holy. Her face was as faintly tinted with 
color as is a tea-rose, and her calm, brown eyes, under 
her smooth brown hair, added to the suggestive still- 
ness of her looks. She seemed in her placidity to be 
far removed from any earthly emotion, and resem- 
bled a picture of the Madonna, serene, peaceful, and 
somewhat sad. Yet who could tell what anguished 
feelings were masked by her womanly pride ? 


RED MONEY 


69 


“I hope you do not find the weather too warm for 
walking/’ said Lambert, reining in his emotions with 
an iron hand, and speaking conventionally. 

“Not at all. I enjoyed the walk. I am staying at 
The Manor.” 

“So I understand.” 

“And you are staying here?” 

“There can be no doubt on that point.” 

“Do you think you are acting wisely?” she asked 
with great calmness. 

“I might put the same question to you, Agnes, see- 
ing that you have come to live within three miles of 
my hermitage.” 

“It is because you are living in what you call your 
hermitage that I have come,” rejoined Agnes, with a 
slight color deepening her cheeks. “Is it fair to me 
that you should shut yourself up and play the part of 
the disappointed lover?” 

Lambert, who had been touching up his picture here 
and there, laid down his palette and brushes with os- 
tentatious care, and faced her doggedly. “I don’t 
understand what you mean,” he declared. 

“Oh, I think you do; and in the hope that I may 
induce you, in justice to me, to change your conduct, 
I have come over.” 

“I don’t think you should haxe come,” he observed 
in a low voice, and threw himself on the couoh with 
averted eyes. 

Lady Agnes colored again. “You are talking non- 
sense,” she said with some sharpness. “There is no 
harm in my coming to see my cousin.” 

“We were more than cousins once.” 

“Exactly, and unfortunately people know that. But 
you needn’t make matters worse by so pointedly keep- 
ing away from me.” 


70 


RED MONEY 


Lambert looked up quickly. “Do you wish me to 
see you often ?” he asked, and there was a new note 
in his voice which irritated her. 

“Personally I don’t, but ” 

“But what?” He rose and stood up, very tall and 
very straight, looking down on her with a hungry look 
in his blue eyes. 

“People are talking,” murmured the lady, and stared 
at the floor, because she could not face that same 
look. 

“Let them talk. What does it matter?” 

“Nothing to you, perhaps, but to me a great deal. 
I have a husband.” 

“As I know to my cost,” he interpolated. 

“Then don’t let me know it to my cost,” she said 
pointedly. “Sit down and let us talk common sense.” 

Lambert did not obey at once. “I am only a human 
being, Agnes ” 

“Quite so, and a man at that. Act like a man, then, 
and don’t place the burden on a woman’s shoulders.” 

“What burden?” 

“Oh, Noel, can’t you understand?” 

“I daresay I can if you will explain. I wish you 
hadn’t come here to-day. I have enough to bear with- 
out that.” 

“And have I nothing to bear?” she demanded, a 
flash of passion ruffling her enforced calm. “Do you 
think that anything but the direst need brought me 
here?” 

“I don’t know what brought you here. I am wait- 
ing for an explanation.” 

“What is the use of explaining what you already 
know ?” 

“I know nothing,” he repeated doggedly. “Explain.” 

“Well,” said Lady Agnes with some bitterness, “it 
seems to me that an explanation is really necessary, as 


RED MONEY 


71 


apparently I am talking to a child instead of a man. 
Sit down and listen. ,, 

This time Lambert obeyed, and laughed as he did 
so. “Your taunts don’t hurt me in the least,” he 
observed. “I love you too much.” 

“And I love in return. No! Don’t rise again. I 
did not come here to revive the embers of our dead 
passion.” 

“Embers !” cried Lambert with bitter scorn. “Em- 
bers, indeed ! And a dead passion ; how well you put 
it. So far as I am concerned, Agnes, the passion is 
not dead and never will be.” 

“I am aware of that, and so I have come to appeal 
to that passion. Love means sacrifice. I want you 
to understand that.” 

“I do, by experience. Did I not surrender you for 
the sake of the family name? Understand! I should 
think I did understand.” 

“I — think — not,” said Lady Agnes slowly and 
gently. “It is necessary to revive your recollections. 
We loved one another since we were boy and girl, 
and we intended, as you know, to marry. There was 
no regular engagement between us, but it was an un- 
derstood family arrangement. My father always 
approved of it ; my brother did not.” 

“No. Because he saw in you an article of sale out 
of which he hoped to make money,” sneered Lambert, 
nursing his ankle. 

Lady Agnes winced. “Don’t make it too hard for 
me,” she said plaintively. “My life is uncomfortable 
enough as it is. Remember that when my father died 
we were nearly ruined. Only by the greatest clever- 
ness did Garvington manage to keep interest on the 
mortgages paid up, hoping that he would marry a 
rich wife — an American for choice — and so could put 


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things straight. But he married Jane, as you 
know ” 

“Because he is a glutton, and she knows all about 
eooking.” 

“Well, gluttony may be as powerful a vice as drink- 
ing and gambling, and all the rest of it. It is with 
Garvington, although I daresay that seeing the posi- 
tion he was in, people would laugh to think he should 
marry a poor woman, when he needed a rich wife. 
But at that time Hubert wanted to marry me, and 
Garvington got his cook-wife, while I was sacrificed.” 

“Seeing that I loved you and you loved me, I won- 
der ” 

“Yes, I know you wondered, but you finally 
accepted my explanation that I did it to save the 
family name.” 

“I did, and, much as I hated your sacrifice, it was 
necessary.” 

“More necessary than you think,” said Lady Agnes, 
sinking her voice to a whisper and glancing round. 
“In a moment of madness Garvington altered a check 
which Hubert gave him, and was in danger of arrest. 
Hubert declared that he would give up the check if I 
married him. I did so, to save my brother and the 
family name.” 

“Oh, Agnes !” Lambert jumped up. “I never knew 
this.” 

“It was not necessary to tell you. I made the excuse 
of saving the family name and property generally. 
You thought it was merely the bankruptcy court, but 
I knew that it meant the criminal court. However, I 
married Hubert, and he put the check in the fire in 
my presence and in Garvington’s. He has also ful- 
filled his share of the bargain which he made when 
he bought me, and has paid off a great many of the 
mortgages. However, Garvington became too out- 


EED MONEY 


73 


rageous in his demands, and lately Hubert has refused 
to help him any Aiore. I don’t blame him ; he has paid 
enough for me.” 

“You are worth it,” said Lambert emphatically. 

“Well, you may think so, and perhaps he does also. 
But does it not strike you, Noel, what a poor figure I 
and Garvington, and the whole family, yourself in- 
cluded, cut in the eyes of the world? We were poor, 
and I was sold to get money to save the land.” 

“Yes, but this changing of the check also ” 

“The world doesn’t know of that,” said Agnes hur- 
riedly. “Hubert has been very loyal to me. I must 
be loyal to him.” 

“You are. Who dares to say that you are not?” 

“No one — as yet,” she replied pointedly. 

“What do you mean by that?” he demanded, flush- 
ing through his fair skin. 

“I mean that if you met me in the ordinary way, and 
behaved to me as an ordinary man, people would not 
talk. But you shun my society, and even when I am 
at The Manor, you do not come near because of my 
presence.” 

“It is so hard to be near you and yet, owing to your 
marriage, so far from you,” muttered the man sav- 
agely. 

“If it is hard for you, think how hard it must 
be for me,” said the woman vehemently, her passion 
coming to the surface. “People talk of the way in 
which you avoid me, and hint that we love one another 
still.” 

“It is true ! Agnes, you know it is true !” 

“Need the whole world know that it is true?” cried 
Agnes, rising, with a gust of anger passing over her 
face. “If you would only come to The Manor, and 
meet me in London, and accept Hubert’s invitations 
to dinner, people would think that our attachment 


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was only a boy and girl engagement, that we had out- 
grown. They would even give me credit for loving 
Hubert ” 

“But you don’t?” cried Lambert with a jealous 
pang. 

“Yes, I do. He is my chosen husband, and has 
carried out his part of the bargain by freeing many of 
Garvington’s estates. Surely the man ought to have 
something for his money. I don’t love him as a wife 
should love her husband, not with heart-whole devo- 
tion, that is. But I give him loyalty, and I respect 
him, and I try to make him happy in every way. I 
do my part, Noel, as you do yours. Since I have been 
compelled to sacrifice love for money, at least let us 
be true to the sacrifice.” 

“You didn’t sacrifice yourself wholly for money.” 

“No, I did not. It was because of Garvington’s 
crime. But no one knows of that, and no one ever 
shall know. In fact, so happy am I and Hubert «” 

“Happy?” said Lambert wincing. 

“Yes,” she declared firmly. “He thinks so, and 
whatever unhappiness I may feel, I conceal from him. 
But you must come to The Manor, and meet me here, 
there, and everywhere, so that people shall not say, as 
they are doing, that you are dying of love, and that, 
because I am a greedy fortune-hunter, I ruined your 
life.” 

“They do not dare. I have not heard any ” 

“What can you hear in this jungle?” interrupted 
Lady Agnes with scorn. “You stop your ears with 
cotton wool, but I am in the world, hearing every- 
thing. And the more unpleasant the thing is, the 
more readily do I hear it. You can end this trouble 
by coming out of your lovesick retirement, and by 
showing that you no longer care for me.” 

“That would be acting a lie.” 


RED MONEY 


75 


“And do I not act a lie?” she cried fiercely. “Is 
not my whole marriage a lie? I despise myself for 
my weakness in yielding, and yet, God help me, what 
else could I do when Garvington’s fair fame was in 
question? Think of the disgrace, had he been prose- 
cuted by Hubert. And Hubert knows that you and I 
loved; that I could not give him the love he desired. 
He was content to accept me on those terms. I don’t 
say he was right; but am I right, are you right, is 
Garvington right? Is any one of us right? Not one, 
not one. The whole thing is horrible, but I make the 
best of it, since I did what I did do, openly and for 
a serious purpose of which the world knows nothing. 
Do your part, Noel, and come to The Manor, if only 
to show that you no longer care for me. You under- 
stand” — she clasped her hands in agony. “You surely 
understand.” 

“Yes,” said Lambert in a low voice, and suddenly 
looked years older. “I understand at last, Agnes. You 
shall no longer bear the burden alone. I shall be a 
loyal friend to you, my dear,” and he took her hand. 

“Will you be a loyal friend to my husband?” she 
asked, withdrawing it. 

“Yes,” said Lambert, and he bit his lip. “God 
helping me, I will.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE MAN AND THE WOMAN. 

The interview between Lady Agnes and Lambert 
could scarcely be called a love-scene, since it was 
dominated by a stern sense of duty. Chaldea, lying 
at length amongst the crushed and fragrant flowers, 
herself in her parti-colored attire scarcely distinguish- 
able from the rainbow blossoms, was puzzled by the 
way in which the two reined in their obvious passions. 
To her simple, barbaric nature, the situation appeared 
impossible. If he loved her and she loved him, why 
did they not run away to enjoy life together? The 
husband who had paid money for the wife did not 
count, nor did the brother, who had sold his sister to 
hide his criminal folly. That Lady Agnes should have 
traded herself to save Garvington from a well-deserved 
punishment, seemed inexcusable to the gypsy. If he 
had been the man she loved, then indeed might she 
have acted rightly. But having thrown over that very 
man in this silly fashion, for the sake of what did not 
appear to be worth the sacrifice, Chaldea felt that 
Agnes did not deserve Lambert, and she then and 
there determined that the Gentile lady should never 
possess him. 

Of course, on the face of it, there was no question 
of possession. The man being weaker than the woman 
would have been only too glad to elope, and thus cut 
the Gordian knot of the unhappy situation. But the 
woman, having acted from a high sense of duty, which 
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RED MONEY 


77 


Chaldea could not rise to, evidently was determined 
to continue to be a martyr. The question was, could 
she keep up that pose in the face of the undeniable 
fact that she loved her cousin? The listening girl 
thought not. Sooner or later the artificial barrier 
would be broken through by the held-back flood of 
passion, and then Lady Agnes would run away from 
the man who had bought her. And quite right, too, 
thought Chaldea, although she had no notion of per- 
mitting such an elopement to take place. That Agnes 
would hold to her bargain all her life, because Hubert 
had fulfilled his part, never occurred to the girl. She 
was not civilized enough to understand this problem 
of a highly refined nature. 

Since the situation was so difficult, Lambert was 
glad to see the back of his cousin. He escorted her 
to the door, but did not attend her through the wood. 
In fact, they parted rather abruptly, which was wise. 
All had been said that could be said, and Lambert had 
given his promise to share the burden with Agnes by 
acting the part of a lover who had never really been 
serious. But it did not do to discuss details, as these 
were too painful, so the woman hurried away without 
a backward glance, and Lambert, holding his heart 
between his teeth, returned to the studio. Neither one 
of the two noticed Chaldea crouching amongst the 
flowers. Had they been less pre-occupied, they might 
have done so ; as it was she escaped observation. 

As soon as the coast was clear, Chaldea stole like a 
snake along the ground, through the high herbage of 
the garden, and beyond the circle of the mysterious 
monoliths. Even across the lawns of the glade did 
she crawl, so as not to be seen, although she need not 
have taken all this trouble, since Lambert, with a set 
fhce and a trembling hand, was working furiously at 
a minor picture he utilized to get rid of such moods. 


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But the gypsy did not know this, and so writhed into 
the woods like the snake of Eden — and of that same 
she was a very fair sample — until, hidden by the boles 
of ancient trees, she could stand upright. When she 
did so, she drew a long breath, and wondered what 
was best to be done. 

The most obvious course was to seek Ishmael and 
make a lying report of the conversation. That his 
wife should have been with Lambert would be quite 
enough to awaken the civilized gypsy’s jealousy, for 
after all his civilization was but skin deep. Still, if 
she did this, Chaldea was clever enough to see that 
she would precipitate a catastrophe, and either throw 
Agnes into Lambert’s arms, or make the man run the 
risk of getting Pine’s knife tickling his fifth rib. 
Either result did not appeal to her. She wished to 
get Lambert to herself, and his safety was of vital 
importance to her. After some consideration, she de- 
termined that she would boldly face the lover, and 
confess that she had overheard everything. Then she 
would have him in her power, since to save the wife 
from the vengeance of the husband, although there 
was no reason for such vengeance, he would do any- 
thing to keep the matter of the visit quiet. Of course 
the interview had been innocent, and Chaldea knew 
that such was the case. Nevertheless, by a little dex- 
terous lying, and some vivid word-painting, she could 
make things extremely unpleasant for the couple. 
This being so, Lambert would have to subscribe to 
her terms. And these were, that he should leave 
Agnes and marry her. That there was such a differ- 
ence in their rank mattered nothing to the girl. Love 
levelled all ranks, in her opinion. 

But while arranging what she should do, if Lambert 
proved obstinate, Chaldea also arranged to fascinate 
him, if possible, into loving her. She did not wish 


RED MONEY 


79 


to use her power of knowledge until her power of 
fascination failed. And this for two reasons. In the 
first! place, it was not her desire to drive the man into 
a corner lest he should defy her and fight, which 
would mean — to her limited comprehension — that 
everything being known to Pine, the couple would 
confess all and elope. In the second place, Chaldea 
was piqued to think that Lambert should prove to be 
so indifferent to her undeniable beauty, as to love this 
pale shadow of a Gentile lady. She would make cer- 
tain, she told herself, if he really preferred the lily to 
the full-blown rose, and on his choice depended her 
next step. Gliding back to the camp, she decided to 
attend to one thing at a time, and the immediate ne- 
cessity was to charm the man into submission. For 
this reason Chaldea sought out the Servian gypsy, who 
was her slave. 

Her slave Kara certainly was, but not her rom. If 
he had been her husband she would not have dared 
to propose to him what she did propose. He was 
amiable enough as a slave, because he had no hold 
over her, but if she married him according to the 
gypsy law, he would then be her master, and should 
she indulge her fancy for a Gentile, he would as- 
suredly use a very nasty-looking knife, which he wore 
under the green coat. Even as it was, Kara would 
not be pleased to fiddle to her dancing, since he 
already was jealous of Lambert. But Chaldea knew 
how to manage this part of the business, risky though 
it was. The hairy little ape with the musician’s soul 
had no claim on her, unless she chose to give him 
that of a husband. Then, indeed, things would be dif- 
ferent, but the time had not come for marital slavery. 

The schemer found Kara at the hour of sunset 
sitting at the door of the tent he occupied, drawing 
sweet tones from his violin. This was the little man’s 


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way of conversing, for he rarely talked to human be- 
ings. He spoke to the fiddle and the fiddle spoke to 
him, probably about Chaldea, since the girl was almost 
incessantly in his thoughts. She occupied them now, 
and when he raised his shaggy head at the touch on 
his hump-back, he murmured with joy at the sight of 
her flushed beauty. Had he known that the flush came 
from jealousy of a rival, Kara might not have been so 
pleased. The two conversed in Romany, since the 
Servian did not speak English. 

“Brother?” questioned Chaldea, standing in the 
glory of the rosy sunset which slanted through the 
trees. “What of Ishmael?” 

“He is with Gentilla in her tent, sister. Do you 
wish to see him?” 

Chaldea shook her proud head. “What have I to 
do with the half Romany? Truly, brother, his heart 
is Gentile, though his skin be of Egypt.” 

“Why should that be, sister, when his name signi- 
fies that he is of the gentle breed ?” asked Kara, laying 
down his violin. 

“Gentile but not gentle,” said Chaldea punning, then 
checked herself lest she should say too much. She 
had sworn to keep Pine’s secret, and intended to do 
so, until she could make capital out of it. At present 
she could not, so behaved honorably. “But he’s Ro- 
many enough to split words with the old witch by the 
hour, so let him stay where he is. Brother, would you 
make money?” Kara nodded and looked up with dia- 
mond eyes, which glittered and gloated on the beauty 
of her dark face. “Then, brother,” continued the girl, 
“the Gorgio who paints gives me gold to dance for 
him.” 

The Servian’s face — what could be seen of it for 
hair — grew sombre, and he spat excessively. “Curses 
on the Gentile!” he growled low in his throat. 


RED MONEY 


81 


“On him, but not on the money, brother,” coaxed 
the girl, stooping to pat his face. “It’s fine work, 
cheating the rye. But jealous you must not be, if the 
gold is to chink in our pockets.” 

Kara still frowned. “Were you my romi, sis- 
ter ” 

“Aye, if I were. Then indeed. But your romi I 
am not yet.” 

“Some day you will be. It would be a good for- 
tune, sister. I am as ugly as you are lovely, and we 
two together, you dancing to my playing, would make 
pockets of red gold. White shows best when placed 
on black.” 

“What a mine of wisdom you are,” jeered Chaldea, 
nodding. “Yes. It is so, and my rom you may be> if 
you obey.” 

“But if you let the Gorgio make love to you— ^ — ” 

“Hey! Am I not a free Roman, brother? You 
have not yet caught the bird. It still sings on the 
bough. If I kiss him I suck gold from his lips. If I 
put fond arms around his neck I but gather wealth 
for us both. Can you snare a mouse without cheese, 
brother?” 

Kara looked at her steadily, and then lifted his 
green coat to show the gleam of a butcher knife. 
“Should you go too far,” he said significantly, and 
touched the blade. 

Chaldea bent swiftly, and snatching the weapon 
from his belt, flung it into the coarse grass under the 
trees. “So I fling you away,” said she, and stamped 
with rage. “Truly, brother, speaking Romanly, you 
are a fool of fools, and take cheating for honesty. I 
lure the Gorgio at my will, and says you whimpering- 
like, ‘She's my romi,' the which is a lie. Bless your 
wisdom for a hairy toad, and good-bye, for I go to my 


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own people near Lundra, and never will he who 
doubted my honesty see me more.” 

She turned away, and Kara limped after her to 
implore forgiveness. He assured her that he trusted 
her fully, and that whatever tricks she played the 
Gentile would not be taken seriously by himself. 
“Poison him I would,” grumbled the little gnome in 
his beard. “For his golden talk makes you smile 
sweetly upon him. But for the gold — 1 — ” 

“Yes, for the gold we must play the fox. Well, 
brother, now that you talk so, wait until the moon is 
up, then hide in the woods round the cottage dell 
with your violin to your chin. I lure the rabbit from 
its hole, and then you play the dance that delights 
the Gorgios. But what I do, with kisses or arm- 
loving, my brother,” she added shaking her finger, 
“is but the play of the wind to shake the leaves. Be- 
lieve me honest and my rom you shall be — some 
day !” and she went away laughing, to eat and drink, 
for the long watching had tired her. As for Kara 
he crawled again into the underwood to search for his 
knife. Apparently he did not trust Chaldea as much 
as she wanted him to. 

Thus it came about that when the moon rolled 
through a starry sky like a golden wheel, Lambert, 
sighing at his studio window, saw a slim and graceful 
figure glide into the clear space of lawn beyond the 
monoliths. So searching was the thin moonlight 
that he recognized Chaldea at once, as she wandered 
here and there restless as a butterfly, and apparently 
as aimless. But, had he known it, she had her 
eyes on the cottage all the time, and had he failed 
to come forth she would have come to inquire if he 
was at home. But the artist did come forth, thinking 
to wile away an hour with the fascinating gypsy girl. 
Always dressing for dinner, even in solitude, for the 


BED MONEY 


83 


habit of years was too strong to lay aside — and, 
moreover, he was fastidious in his dress to preserve 
his self-respect — he appeared at the door looking 
slender and wefl-set up in his dark clothes. Although 
it was August the night was warm, and Lambert did 
not trouble to put on cap or overcoat. With his hands 
in his pockets and a cigar between his lips he strolled 
over to the girl, where she swayed and swung in the 
fairy light. 

“Hullo, Chaldea,” he said leisurely, and leaning 
against one of the moss-grown monoliths, “what are 
you doing here ?” 

“The rye,” exclaimed Chaldea, with a well-feigned 
start of surprise. “Avali the rye. Sarishan, my 
Gorgious gentleman, you, too, are a nightbird. Have 
you come out mousing like an owl ? Ha ! ha ! and you 
hear the nightingale singing, speaking in the Gentile 
manner,” and clapping her hands she lifted up a full 
rich voice. 

“Dyal o pani repedishis, 

M’ro pirano hegedishis.” 

“What does that mean, Chaldea?” 

“It is an Hungarian song, and means that while the 
stream flows I hear the violin of my love. Kara taught 
me the ditty.” 

“And Kara is your love ?” 

“No. Oh, no; oh, no,” sang Chaldea, whirling 
round and round in quite a magical manner. “No 
rom have I, but a mateless bird I wander. Still I 
hear the violin of my true love, my new love, who 
knows my droms, and that means my habits, rye,” she 
ended, suddenly speaking in a natural manner. 

“I don’t hear the violin, however,” said Lambert 
lazily, and thinking what a picturesque girl she was 
in her many-hued rag-tag garments, and with the 
golden coins glittering in her black hair. 


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“You will, rye, you will,” she said confidentially. 
“Come, my darling gentleman, cross my hand with sil- 
ver and I dance. I swear it. No hokkeny baro will 
you behold when the wind pipes for me.” 

“Hokkeny baro.” 

“A great swindle, my wise sir. Hai, what a pity 
you cannot patter the gentle Romany tongue. Kek ! 
Kek ! What does it matter, when you speak Gentile 
gibberish like an angel. Sit, rye, and I dance for 
you.” 

“Quite like Carmen and Don Jose in the opera,” 
murmured Lambert, sliding down to the foot of the 
rude stone. 

“What of her and of him? Were they Romans?” 

“Carmen was and Jose wasn’t. She danced herself 
into his heart.” 

Chaldea’s eyes flashed, and she made a hasty sign 
to attract the happy omen of his saying to herself. 
“Kushto bak,” cried Chaldea, using the gypsy for 
good luck. “And to me, to me,” she clapped her hand. 
“Hark, my golden rye, and watch me dance your love 
into my life.” 

The wind was rising and sighed through the wood, 
shaking myriad leaves from the trees. Blending with 
its faint cry came a long, sweet, sustained note of 
music. Lambert started, so weird and unexpected 
was the sound. “Kara, isn’t it?” he asked, looking in- 
quiringly at Chaldea. 

“He talks to the night — he speaks with the wind. 
Oh-ah-ah-ah. Ah-oha-oha-oha-ho,” sang the gypsy, 
clapping her hands softly, then, as the music came 
breathing from the hidden violin in dreamy sensuous 
tones, she raised her bare arms and began to dance. 
The place, the dancer, the hour, the mysterious music, 
and the pale enchantments of the moon — it was like 
fairyland. 


RED MONEY 


85 


Lambert soon let his cigar go out, so absorbed did 
he become in watching the dance. It was a wonder- 
ful performance, sensuous and weirdly unusual. He 
had never seen a dance exactly like it before. The 
violin notes sounded like actual words, and the dancer 
answered them with responsive movements of her 
limbs, so that without speech the onlooker saw a love- 
drama enacted before his eyes. Chaldea — so he in- 
terpreted the dance — swayed gracefully from the hips, 
without moving her feet, in the style of a Nautch 
girl. She was waiting for some one, since to right 
and left she swung with a delicate hand curved be- 
hind her ear. Suddenly she started, as if she heard 
an approaching footstep, and in maidenly confusion 
glided to a distance, where she stood with her hands 
across her bosom, the very picture of a surprised 
nymph. Mentally, the dance translated itself to 
Lambert somewhat after this fashion : 

“She waits for her lover. That little run forward 
means that she sees him coming. She falls at his feet ; 
she kisses them. He raises her — I suppose that 
panther spring from the ground means that he raises 
her. She caresses him with much fondling and many 
kisses. By Jove, what pantomime! Now she dances 
to please him. She stops and trembles ; the dance does 
not satisfy. She tries another. No ! No ! Not that ! 
It is too dreamy — the lover is in a martial mood. This 
time she strikes his fancy. Kara is playing a wild 
Hungarian polonaise. Wonderful ! Wonderful !” 

He might well say so, and he struggled to his feet, 
leaning against the pillar of stone to see the dancer 
better. From the wood came the fierce and stirring 
Slav music, and Chaldea’s whole expressive body an- 
swered to every note as a needle does to a magnet. 
She leaped, clicking her heels together, advanced, as 
if on the foe, with a bound — was flung back — so it 


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seemed — and again sprang to the assault. She stiff- 
ened to stubborn resistance — she unexpectedly became 
pliant and yielding and graceful, and voluptuous, 
while the music took on the dreamy tones of love. 
And Lambert translated the change after his own 
idea : 

“The music does not please the dancer — it is too 
martial. She fears lest her lover should rush off to 
the wars, and seeks to detain him by the dance of 
Venus. But he will go. He rises; he speeds away; 
she breaks off the dance. Ah ! what a cry of despair 
the violin gave just now. She follows, stretching out 
her empty arms. But it is useless — he is gone. Bah ! 
She snaps her fingers. What does she care ! She will 
dance to please herself, and to show that her heart 
is yet whole. What a Bacchanalian strain. She 
whirls and springs and swoops and leaps. She comes 
near to me, whirling like a Dervish ; she recedes, and 
then comes spinning round again, like a mad creature. 
And then — oh, hang it ! What do you mean ? Chal- 
dea, what are you doing?” 

Lambert had some excuse for suddenly bursting 
into speech, when he cried out vigorously : “Oh, hang 
it !” for Chaldea whirled right up to him and had laid 
her arms round his neck, and her lips against his 
cheek. The music stopped abruptly, with a kind of an- 
gry snarl, as if Kara, furious at the sight, had put his 
wrath into the last broken note. Then all was silent, 
and the artist found himself imprisoned in the arms of 
the woman, which were locked round his neck. With 
an oath he unlinked her fingers and flung her away 
from him fiercely. 

“You fool — you utter fool !” cried Lambert, striving 
to calm down the beating of his heart, and restrain 
the racing of his blood, for he was a man, and the 


RED MONEY 


sudden action of the gypsy had nearly swept away his 
self-restraint. 

“ I love you — I love you,” panted Chaldea from the 
grass, where he had thrown her. “Oh, my beautiful 
one, I love you.” 

“You are crazy,” retorted Lambert, quivering with 
many emotions to which he could scarcely put a name, 
so shaken was he by the experience. “What the 
devil do you mean by behaving in this way?” and his 
voice rose in such a gust of anger that Kara, hidden 
in the wood, rejoiced. He could not understand what 
was being said, but the tone of the voice was enough 
for him. He did not know whether Chaldea was 
cheating the Gentile, or cheating him; but he gath- 
ered that in either case, she had been repulsed. The 
girl knew that also, when her ardent eyes swept across 
Lambert’s white face, and she burst into tears of 
anger and disappointment. 

“Oh, rye, I give you all, and you take nothing,” 
she wailed tearfully. 

“I don’t want anything. You silly girl, do you 
think that for one moment I was ever in love with 
you ?” 

“I — I — want you — to — to — love me,” sobbed Chal- 
dea, grovelling on the grass. 

“Then you want an impossibility,” and to Lambert’s 
mind’s eye there appeared the vision of a calm and 
beautiful face, far removed in its pure looks from the 
flushed beauty of the fiery gypsy. To gain control 
of himself, he took out a cigar and lighted it. But his 
hand trembled. “You little fool,” he muttered, and 
sauntered, purposely, slowly toward the cottage. 

Chaldea gathered herself up with the spring of a 
tigress, and in a moment was at his elbow with her 
face black with rage. Her tears had vanished and 
with them went her softer mood. “You — you reject 


88 


RED MONEY* 


me,” she said in grating tones, and shaki. 1 from 
head to foot as she gripped his shoulder. 

“Take away your hand,” commanded Lambert 
sharply, and when she recoiled a pace he faced her 
squarely. “You must have been drinking,” he de- 
clared, hoping to insult her into common sense. 
“What would Kara say if ” 

“I don’t want Kara. I want you,” interrupted 
Chaldea, her breast heaving, and looking sullenly 
wrathful. 

“Then you can’t have me. Why should you think 
of me in this silly way ? We were very good friends, 
and now you have spoiled everything. I can never 
have you to sit for me again.” 

Chaldea’s lip drooped. “Never again? Never 
again ?” 

“No. It is impossible, since you have chosen to 
act in this way. Come, you silly girl, be sensible, 
and ” 

“Silly girl! Oh, yes, silly girl,” flashed out Chal- 
dea. “And what is she ?” 

“She ?” Lambert stiffened himself. “What do you 
mean ?” 

“I mean the Gentile lady. I was under the window 
this afternoon. I heard all you were talking about.” 

The man stepped back a pace and clenched his 
hands. “You — listened?” he asked slowly, and with 
a very white face. 

Chaldea nodded with a triumphant smile. 

“Avali ! And why not? You have no right to love 
another man’s romi.” 

“I do not love her,” began Lambert, and then 
checked himself, as he really could not discuss so 
delicate a matter with this wildcat. “Why did you 
listen, may I ask?” he demanded, passing his tongue 
over his dry lips. 


BED MONEY 


89 


“Because I love you, and love is jealous.” 

Lambert restrained himself by a violent effort from 
shaking her. “You are talking nonsense,” he declared 
with enforced calmness. “And it is ridiculous for you 
to love a man who does not care in the least for you.” 

“It will come — I can wait,” insisted Chaldea sul- 
lenly. 

“If you wait until Doomsday it will make no dif- 
ference. I don’t love you, and I have never given 
you any reason to think so.” 

“Chee-chee!” bantered the girl. “Is that because 
I am not a raclan?” 

“A raclan ?” 

“A married Gentile lady, that is. You love her ?” 

“I — I — see, here, Chaldea, I am not going to talk 
over such things with you, as my affairs are not your 
business.” 

“They are the business of the Gorgious female’s 
rom.” 

“Rom? Her husband, you mean. What do you 
know of ” 

“I know that the Gentle Pine is really one of us,” 
interrupted the girl quickly. ’’Ishmael Hearne is his 
name.” 

“Sir Hubert Pine?” 

“Ishmael Hearne,” insisted Chaldea pertly. “He 
comes to the fire of the Gentle Romany when he 
wearies of your Gorgious flesh-pots.” 

“Pine a gypsy,” muttered Lambert, and the mem- 
ory of that dark, lean, Eastern face impressed him 
with the belief that what the girl said was true. 

“Avali. A true son of the road. He is here.” 

“Here ?” Lambert started violently. “What do you 
mean ?” 

“I say what I mean, rye. He you call Pine is in 


90 


RED MONEY 


our camp enjoying the old life. Shall I bring him to 
you?” she inquired demurely. 

In a flash Lambert saw his danger, and the danger 
of Agnes, seeing that the millionaire was as jealous 
as Othello. However, it seemed to him that honesty 
was the best policy at the moment. “I shall see him 
myself later,” he declared after a pause. “If you lis- 
tened, you must know that there is no reason why I 
should not see him. His wife is my cousin, and paid 
me a friendly visit — that is all.” 

“Yes ; that is all,” mocked the girl contemptuously. 
“But if I tell him ” 

“Tell him what?” 

“That you love his romi !” 

“He knows that,” said Lambert quietly. “And 
knows also that I am an honorable man. See here, 
Chaldea, you are dangerous, because this silly love 
of yours has warped your common sense. You can 
make a lot of mischief if you so choose, I know well.” 

“And I shall choose, my golden rye, if you love me 
not.” 

“Then set about it at once,” said Lambert boldly. 
“It is best to be honest, my girl. I have done nothing 
wrong, and I don’t intend to do anything wrong, so 
you can say what you like. To-night I shall go to 
London, and if Pine, or Hearne, or whatever you call 
him, wants me, he knows my town address.” 

“You defy me?” panted Chaldea, her breast rising 
and falling quickly. 

“Yes; truth must prevail in the end. I make no 
bargain with a spy,” and he gave her a contemptuous 
look, as he strode into the cottage and shut the door 
with an emphatic bang. 

“Hai !” muttered the gypsy between her teeth. 
“Hatch till the dood wells apre,” which means : “Wait 
until the moon rises t” an ominous saying for Lambert. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE SECRETARY. 

“Was ever a man in so uncomfortable a position ?” 

Lambert asked himself this question as soon as he 
was safe in his studio, and he found it a difficult one 
to answer. It was true that what he had said to 
Agnes, and what Agnes had said to him, was per- 
fectly honest and extremely honorable, considering the 
state of their feelings. But the conversation had been 
overheard by an unscrupulous woman, whose jealousy 
would probably twist innocence into guilt. It was 
certain that she would go to Pine and give him a 
garbled version of what had taken place, in which 
case the danger was great, both to himself and to 
Agnes. Lambert had spoken bravely enough to the 
marplot, knowing that he had done no wrong, but 
now he was by no means sure that he had acted 
rightly. Perhaps it would have been better to tem- 
porize, but that would have meant a surrender young 
to Chaldea’s unmaidenly wooing. And, as the man 
had not a spark of love for her in a heart given en- 
tirely to another woman, he was unwilling even to 
feign playing the part of a lover. 

On reflection he still held to his resolution to go 
to London, thinking that it would be best for him to 
be out of reach of Agnes while Pine was in the neigh- 
borhood. The news that the millionaire was a gypsy 
had astonished him at first; but now that he consid- 
ered the man’s dark coloring and un-English looks, 
91 


92 


RED MONEY 


he quite believed that what Chaldea said was true. 
And he could understand also that Pine — or Hearne, 
since that was his true name — would occasionally wish 
to breathe the free air of heath and road since he had 
been cradled under a tent, and must at times feel 
strongly the longing for the old lawless life. But 
why should he revert to his beginnings so near to his 
brother-in-law's house, where his wife was staying? 
“Unless he came to keep an eye on her," murmured 
Lambert, and unconsciously hit on the very reason 
of the pseudo-gypsy’s presence at Garvington. 

After all, it would be best to go to London for a 
time to wait until he saw what Chaldea would do. 
Then he could meet Pine and have an understanding 
with him. The very fact that Pine was a Romany, 
and was on his native heath, appealed to Lambert as 
a reason why he should not seek out the man imme- 
diately, as he almost felt inclined to do, in order to 
forestall Chaldea’s story. As Hearne, the million- 
aire’s wild instincts would be uppermost, and he would 
probably not listen to reason, whereas if the meeting 
took place in London, Pine would resume to a cer- 
tain extent his veneer of civilization and would be 
more willing to do justice. 

“Yes,’’ decided Lambert, rising and stretching him- 
self. “I shall go to London and wait to turn over 
matters in my own mind. I shall say nothing to 
Agnes until I know what is best to be done about 
Chaldea. Meanwhile, I shall see the girl and get her 
to hold her tongue for a time — Damn !’’ He 
frowned. “It’s making the best of a dangerous situa- 
tion, but I don’t see my way to a proper adjustment 
yet. The most necessary thing is to gain time.’’ 

With this in his mind he hastily packed a gladstone 
bag, changed into tweeds, and told Mrs. Tribb that he 
was going to London for a day or so. “I shall get a 


RED MONEY 


93 


trap at the inn and drive to the station,” he said, as 
he halted at the door. “You will receive a wire say- 
ing when I shall return,” and leaving the dry little 
woman, open-mouthed at this sudden departure, the 
young man hastened away. 

Instead of going straight to the village, he took a 
roundabout road to the camp on the verge of Ab- 
bot's Wood. Here he found the vagrants in a state 
of great excitement, as Lord Garvington had that aft- 
ernoon sent notice by a gamekeeper that they were to 
leave his land the next day. Taken up with his own 
private troubles, Lambert did not pay much atten- 
tion to those of the tribe, and looked about for Chal- 
dea. He finally saw her sitting by one of the fires, in 
a dejected attitude, and touched her on the shoulder. 
At once, like a disturbed animal, she leaped to her 
feet. 

“The rye !” said Chaldea, with a gasp, and a hope- 
ful look on her face. 

“Give me three days before you say anything to 
Pine,” said Lambert in a low voice, and a furtive look 
round. “You understand.” 

“No,” said the girl boldly. “Unless you mean ” 

“Never mind what I mean,” interrupted the man 
hastily, for he was determined not to commit himself. 
“Will you hold your tongue for three days ?” 

Chaldea looked hard at his face, upon which the red 
firelight played brightly, but could not read what was 
in his mind. However, she thought that the request 
showed a sign of yielding, and was a mute confession 
that he knew he was in her power. “I give you three 
days,” she murmured. “But ” 

“I have your promise then, so good-bye,” inter- 
rupted Lambert abruptly, and walked away hastily in 
the direction of Garvington village. His mind was 
more or less of a chaos, but at all events he had 


94 


RED MONEY 


gained time to reduce the chaos to some sort of order. 
Still as yet he could not see the outcome of the situa- 
tion and departed swiftly in order to think it over. 

Chaldea made a step or two, as if to follow, but a 
reflection that she could do no good by talking at the 
moment, and a certainty that she held him in the 
hollow of her hand, made her pause. With a hitch of 
her shapely shoulders she resumed her seat by the 
fire, brooding sombrely on the way in which this Gen- 
tile had rejected her love. Bending her black brows 
and showing her white teeth like an irritated dog, she 
inwardly cursed herself for cherishing so foolish a 
love. Nevertheless, she did not try to overcome it, 
but resolved to force the Gorgio to her feet. Then 
she could spurn him if she had a mind to, as he had 
spurned her. But she well knew, and confessed it to 
herself with a sigh, that there would be no spurning 
on her part, since her wayward love was stronger than 
her pride. 

“Did the Gentile bring the gold, my sister?” asked 
a harsh voice, and she raised her head to see Kara’s 
hairy face bent to her ear. 

“No, brother. He goes to Lundra to get the gold. 
Did I not play my fish in fine style?” 

“I took it for truth, sister!” said Kara, looking at 
her searchingly. 

Chaldea nodded wearily. “I am a great witch, as 
you can see.” 

“You will be my romi when the gold chinks in our 
pockets ?” 

“Yes, for certain, brother. It’s a true fortune !” 

“Before our camp is changed, sister?” persisted the 
man greedily. 

“No; for to-morrow we may take the road, since 
the great lord orders us off his land. And yet ” 


BED MONEY 


95 


Chaldea stood up, suddenly recollecting what had 
been said by Pine’s wife. “Why should we leave?” 

“The rabbit can’t kick dust in the fox’s face, sister,” 
said Kara, meaning that Garvington was too strong 
for the gypsies. 

“There are rabbits and rabbits,” said Chaldea sen- 
tentiously. “Where is Hearne, brother?” 

“In Gentilla’s tent with a Gorgious gentleman. 
He’s trading a horse with the swell rye, and wants 
no meddling with his time, sister.” 

“I meddle now,” snapped Chaldea, and walked away 
in her usual free and graceful manner. Kara 
shrugged his shoulders and then took refuge in talk- 
ing to his violin, to which he related his doubts of the 
girl’s truth. And he smiled grimly, as he thought of 
the recovered knife which was again snugly hidden 
under his weather-worn green coat. 

Chaldea, who did not stand on ceremony, walked 
to the end of the camp without paying any attention 
to the excited gypsies, and flung back the flap of the 
old woman’s tent. Mother Cockleshell was not within, 
as she had given the use of her abode to Pine and his 
visitor. This latter was a small, neat man with a 
smooth, boyish face and reddish hair. He had the 
innocent expression of a fox-terrier, and rather re- 
sembled one. He was neatly and inoffensively dressed 
in blue serge, and although he did not look exactly 
like a gentleman, he would have passed for one in a 
crowd. When Chaldea made her abrupt entrance he 
was talking volubly to Pine, and the millionaire ad- 
dressed him — when he answered — as Silver. Chaldea, 
remembering the conversation she had overheard be- 
tween Pine and Miss Greeby, speedily reached the con- 
clusion that the neat little man was the secretary re- 
ferred to therein. Probably he had come to report 
about Lady Agnes. 


96 


RED MONEY 


“What is it, sister?” demanded Pine sharply, and 
making a sign that Silver should stop talking. 

“Does the camp travel to-morrow, brother?” 

“Perhaps, yes,” retorted Pine abruptly. 

“And perhaps no, brother, if you use your power.” 

Silver raised his faint eyebrows and looked ques- 
tioningly at his employer, as if to ask what this cryp- 
tic sentence meant. Pine knew only too well, since 
Chaldea had impressed him thoroughly with the fact 
that she had overheard many of his secrets. There- 
fore he did not waste time in argument, but nodded 
quietly. “Sleep in peace, sister. The camp shall stay, 
if you wish it.” 

“I do wish it l” She glanced at Silver and changed 
her speech to Romany. “The ring will be here,” tap- 
ping her finger, “in one week if we stay.” 

“So be it, sister,” replied Pine, also in Romany, and 
with a gleam of satisfaction in his dark eyes. “Go 
now and return when this Gentile goes. What of the 
golden Gorgious one?” 

“He seeks Lundra this night.” 

“For the ring, sister?” 

Chaldea looked hard at him. “For the ring” she 
said abruptly, then dropping the tent-flap which she 
had held all the time, she disappeared. 

Silver looked at his master inquiringly, and noted 
that he seemed very satisfied. “What did she say in 
Romany?” he asked eagerly. 

“True news and new news, and news you never 
heard of,” mocked Pine. “Don’t ask questions, Mark.” 

“But since I am your secretary ” 

“You are secretary to Hubert Pine, not to Ishmael 
Hearne,” broke in the other man. “And when 
Romany is spoken it concerns the last.” 

Silver’s pale-colored, red-rimmed eyes twinkled in 


RED MONEY 


97 


an evil manner. “You are afraid that I may learn too 
much about you.” 

“You know all that is to be known/’ retorted Pine 
sharply. “But I won’t have you meddle with my 
Romany business. A Gentile such as you are cannot 
understand the dials.” 

“Try me.” 

“There is no need. You are my secretary — my 
trusted secretary — that is quite enough. I pay you 
well to keep my secrets.” 

“I don’t keep them because you pay me,” said Sil- 
ver quickly, and with a look of meekness belied by the 
sinister gleam in his pale bluish eyes. “It is devotion 
that makes me honest. I owe everything to you.” 

“I think you do,” observed Pine quietly. “When I 
found you in Whitechapel you were only a pauper toy- 
maker.” 

“An inventor of toys, remember. You made your 
fortune out of my inventions.” 

“The three clever toys you invented laid the foun- 
dations of my wealth,” corrected the millionaire calmly. 
“But I made my money in the South African share 
business. And if I hadn’t taken up your toys, you 
would have been now struggling in Whitechapel, since 
there was no one but me to exploit your brains in the 
toy-making way. I have rescued you from starvation ; 
I have made you my secretary, and pay you a good 
salary, and I have introduced you to good society. 

Yes, you do indeed owe everything to me. Yet ” 

he paused. 

“Yet what?” 

“Miss Greeby observed that those who have most 
cause to be grateful are generally the least thankful 
to those who befriend them. I am not sure but what 
she is right.” 


98 


RED MONEY 


Silver pushed up his lower lip contemptuously, and 
a derisive expression came over his clean-shaven face. 
“Does a clever man like you go to that emancipated 
woman for experience ?” 

“Emancipated women are usually very clever,” said 
Pine dryly, “as they combine the logic of the male with 
the intuition of the female. And I have observed my- 
self, in many cases, that kindness brings out ingrati- 
tude.’' 

Silver looked sullen and uneasy. “I don’t know why 
you should talk to me in this strain,” he said irritably. 
“I appreciate what you have done for me, and have no 
reason to treat you badly. If I did ” 

“I would break you,” flamed out his employer, an- 
gered by the mere thought. “So long as you serve me 
well, Silver, I am your friend, and I shall treat you as 
I have always done, with every consideration. But 
you play any tricks on me, and ” he paused ex- 

pressively. 

“Oh, I won’t betray you, if that’s what you mean.” 

“I am quite sure you won’t,” said the millionaire 
with emphasis. “For if you do, you return to your 
original poverty. And remember, Mark, that there is 
nothing in my life which has any need of conceal- 
ment.” 

Silver cast a look round the tent and at the rough 
clothes of the speaker. “No need of any concealment?” 
he asked significantly. 

“Certainly not,” rejoined Pine violently. “I don’t 
wish my gypsy origin to be known in the Gentile 
world. But if the truth did come to light, there is 
nothing to be ashamed of. I commit no crime in call- 
ing myself by a Gorgio name and in accumulating a 
fortune. You have no hold over me.” The man’s 
look was so threatening that Silver winced. 

“I don’t hint at any hold over you,” he observed 


EED MONEY 


99 


mildly. “1 am bound to you both by gratitude and 
self-interest.” 

“Aha. That last is better. It is just as well that 
we have come to this understanding. If you — — ” 
Pine’s speech was ended by a sharp fit of coughing, 
and Silver looked at his contortions with a thin-lipped 
smile. 

“You’ll kill yourself if you live this damp colonial 
sort of tent-life,” was his observation. “Here, take a 
drink of water.” 

Pine did so, and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of 
his rough coat. “You’re a Gorgio,” he said, weakly, 
for the fit had shaken him, “and can’t understand how 
a bred and born Romany longs for the smell of the 
smoke, the space of the open country, and the sound 
of the kalo jib. However, I did not ask you here to 
discuss these things, but to take my instructions.” 

“About Lady Agnes?” asked the secretary, his eyes 
scintillating. 

“You have had those long ago, although, trusting 
my wife as I do, there was really no need for me to 
ask you to watch her.” 

“That is very true. Lady Agnes is exceedingly cir- 
cumspect.” 

“Is she happy?” 

Silver lifted his shoulders. “As happy as a woman 
can be who is married to one man while she loves an- 
other.” 

He expected an outburst of anger from his em- 
ployer, but none came. On the contrary, Pine sighed 
restlessly. “Poor soul. I did her a wrong in making 
her my wife. She would have been happier with 
Lambert in his poverty.” 

“Probably ! Her tastes don’t lie like those of other 
women in the direction of squandering money. By 


100 


BED UOXEY 


the way, I suppose, since yon are here, that you know 
Lambert is staying in the Abbot’s Wood Cottage IT 

‘‘Yes, I know that. And what of it?” demanded 
the millionaire sharply. 

“Nothing; only I thought you would like to know. 
I fancied you had come here to see if ” 

“I did not. I can trust you to see that my wife and 
Lambert do not meet without spying myself.” 

“If you lore and trust your wife so entirely, I won- 
der you ask me to spy on her at ah,” said Silver with 
a faint sneer. 

“She is a woman, and we gypsies have sufficient of 
the Oriental in us to mistrust even the most honest 
women. Lambert has not been to The Manor ?” 

“No. That’s a bad sign. He can’t trust himself in 
her presence.” 

“I’ll choke the life out of you, rat that you are, if 
you talk in such a way about my wife. What you 
think doesn’t matter. Hold your tongue, and come to 
business. I asked you here to take my instructions.” 

Silver was rather cowed by this outburst, as he was 
cunning enough to know precisely how tar he could 
venture with safety. “I am waiting,” he observed in 
sullen tones. 

“Garvington — as I knew he would — has ordered us 
off the land. As the wood is really mine, since I hold 
it as security, having paid off the mortgage, I don’t 
choose that he should deal with it as though it were 
his own. Here” — he passed along a letter — “I have 
written that on my office paper, and you will see that 
it says, I have beard how gypsies are camping here, 
and that it is my wish they should remain. Garving- 
ton is not to order them off on any pretext whatsoever. 
You understand?” 

“Yes.” Silver nodded, and slipped the paper into 
his breast pocket after a hasty glance at the contents, 


BED 3IOXEY 


101 


which were those the writer had stated. But if 
Garvington wishes to know why yon take such an in- 
terest in the gypsies, what am I to say?" 

“Say nothing. Simply do what I have told yon.” 

“Garvington may suspect that you are a Romany.** 

“He won't. He thinks that I’m in Paris, and will 
never connect me with Ishmael Heame. If he asks 
questions when we meet I can tell him my own tale. 
Bv the wav. whv is he so anxious to get rid of the 
tribe?” 

“There have been many burglaries lately in various 
parts of Hengishire," explained the secretary. “And 
Garvington is afraid lest the gypsies should be mixed 
up with them. He thinks, this camp being near, some 
of the men may break into the house." 

“What nonsense! Gypsies steal, I don't deny, but 
in an open way. They are not burglars, however, and 
never will be. Garvington has never seen any near 
The Manor that he should take fright in this way ~ 

“I am not so sure of that. Once or twice I have 
seen that girl who came to you hanging about the 
house.'* 

“Chaldea?" Pine started and looked earnestly at 
his companion. 

“Yes. She told Mrs. Belgrove's fortune one day 
when she met her m the park, and also tried to make 
Lady Agnes cross her hand with silver for the same 
purpose. Nothing came of that, however, as your 
wife refused to have her fortune told." 

Pine frowned and looked uneasy, remembering that 
Chaldea knew of his Gentile masquerading. However, 
as he could see no reason to suspect that the girl had 
betrayed him. since she had nothing to gain by taking 
such a course, he passed the particular incident over. 
“I must tell Chaldea not to go near The Manor." he 
muttered. 


102 RED MONEY 


“You will be wise ; and tell the men also. Garving- 
ton has threatened to shoot any one who tries to enter 
his house.” 

“Garvington’s a little fool,” said Pine violently. 
“There is no chance that the Romany will enter his 
house. He can set his silly mind at rest.” 

“Well, you’re warned,” said Silver with an elab- 
orate pretence of indifference. 

Pine looked up, growling. “What the devil do you 
mean, Mark ? Do you think that I intend to break in. 
Fool ! A Romany isn’t a thief of that sort.” 

“I fancied from tradition that they were thieves of 
all sorts,” retorted the secretary coolly. “And sup- 
pose you took a fancy to come quietly and see your 
wife ?” 

“I should never do that in this dress,” interrupted 
the millionaire in a sharp tone. “My wife would then 
know my true name and birth. I wish to keep that 
from her, although there is nothing disgraceful in the 
secret. I wonder why you say that ?” he said, looking 
searchingly at the little man. 

“Only because Lambert is in the ” 

“Lambert ! Lambert ! You are always harping on 
Lambert.” 

“I have your interest at heart.” 

Pine laughed doubtfully. “I am not so sure of that. 
Self-interest rather. I trust my wife ” 

“You do, since you make me spy on her,” said Sil- 
ver caustically. 

“I trust my wife so far,” pursued the other man, “if 
you will permit me to finish my sentence. There is no 
need for her to see her cousin, and — as they have kept 
apart for so long — I don’t think there is any chance of 
their seeking one another’s company.” 

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” remarked 
the secretary sententiously. “And you may be living 


RED MONEY 


103 


in a fool’s paradise. Lambert is within running-away 
distance of her, remember.’’ 

Pine laughed in a raucous manner. “An elopement 
would have taken place long ago had it been intended,” 
he snapped tartly. “Don’t imagine impossibilities, 
Mark. Agnes married me for my money, so that I 
might save the credit of the Lambert family. But for 
me, Garvington would have passed through the Bank- 
ruptcy Court long ago. I have paid off certain mort- 
gages, but I hold them as security for my wife’s good 
behavior. She knows that an elopement with her 
cousin would mean the ruin of her brother.” 

“You do, indeed, trust her,” observed Silver sarcas- 
tically. 

“I trust her so far and no further,” repeated Pine 
with an angry snarl. “A Gentile she is, and Gentiles 
are tricky.” He stretched out a slim, brown hand sig- 
nificantly and opened it. “I hold her and Garvington 
there,” and he tapped the palm lightly. 

“You don’t hold Lambert, and he is the dangerous 
one.” 

“Only dangerous if Agnes consents to run away 
with him, and she won’t do that,” replied Pine coolly. 
^ “Well, she certainly doesn’t care for money.” 

“She cares for the credit of her family, and gave 
herself to me, so that the same might be saved.” 

Silver shrugged his narrow shoulders. “What fools 
these aristocrats are,” he observed pleasantly. “Even 
if Garvington were sold up he would still have his 
title and enough to live on in a quiet way.” 

“Probably. But it was not entirely to save his es- 
tates that he agreed to my marriage with his sister,” 
said Pine pointedly and quietly. 

“Eh ! What ?” The little man’s foxy face became 
alive with eager inquiry. 

“Nothing,” said Pine roughly, and rose heavily to 


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RED MONEY 


his feet. “Mind your own infernal business, and mine 
also. Go back and show that letter to Garvington. 
I want my tribe to stay here.” 

“My tribe,” laughed Silver, scrambling to his feet ; 
and when he took his departure he was still laughing. 
He wondered what Garvington would say did he know 
that his sister was married to a full-blooded Romany. 

Pine, in the character of a horse-coper, saw him 
out of the camp, and was staring after him when 
Chaldea, on the watch, touched his shoulder. 

“I come to your tent, brother,” she said with very 
bright eyes. 

“Eh? Yes!” Pine aroused himself out of a brown 
study. “Avali, miri pen. You have things to say to 
me ?” 

“Golden things, which have to do with your happi- 
ness and mine, brother.” 

“Hai? A wedding-ring, sister.” 

“Truly, brother, if you be a true Romany and not 
the Gentile you call yourself.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


AT MIDNIGHT. 

Silver's delivery of his employer’s orders to Lord 
Garvington were apparently carried out, for no 
further intimation was given to the gypsies that they 
were to vacate Abbot’s Wood. The master of The 
Manor grumbled a good deal at the high tone taken 
by his brother-in-law, as, having the instincts of a 
landlord, he strongly objected to the presence of such 
riff-raff on his estates. However, as Pine had the 
whip-hand of him, he was obliged to yield, although 
he could not understand why the man should favor 
the Romany in this way. 

“Some of his infernal philanthropy, I suppose,” said 
Garvington, in a tone of disgust, to the secretary. 
“Pine’s always doing this sort of thing, and people 
ain’t a bit grateful.” 

“Well,” said Silver dryly, “I suppose that’s his look- 
out.” 

“If it is, let him keep to his own side of the road,” 
retorted the other. “Since I don’t interfere with his 
business, let him not meddle with mine.” 

“As he holds the mortgage and can foreclose at any 
moment, it is his business,” insisted Silver tartly. 
“And, after all, the gypsies are doing no very great 
harm.” 

“They will if they get the chance. I’d string up 
the whole lot if I had my way, Silver. Poachers and 
blackguards every one of them. I know that Pine is 

105 


106 


RED MONEY 


always helping rotters in London, but I didn’t know 
that he had any cause to interfere with this lot. How 
did he come to know about them?” 

"Well, Mr. Lambert might have told him,” answered 
the secretary, not unwilling to draw that young man 
into the trouble. “He is at Abbot’s Wood.” 

“Yes, I lent him the cottage, and this is my re- 
ward. He meddles with my business along with Pine. 
Why can’t he shut his mouth?” 

“I don’t say that Mr. Lambert did tell him, but he 
might have done so.” 

“I am quite sure that he did,” said Garvington em- 
phatically, and growing red all over his chubby face. 
“Otherwise Pine would never have heard, since he is 
in Paris. I shall speak to Lambert.” 

“You won’t find him at home. I looked in at his 
cottage to pass the time, and his housekeeper said 
that he had gone to London all of a sudden, this very 
evening.” 

“Oh, he’ll turn up again,” said Garvington care- 
lessly. “He’s sick of town, Silver, since ” The 

little man hesitated. 

“Since when?” asked the secretary curiously. 

“Never mind,” retorted the other gruffly, for he 
did not wish to mention the enforced marriage of his 
sister, to Silver. Of course, there was no need to, as 
Garvington, aware that the neat, foxy-faced man 
was his brother-in-law’s confidential adviser, felt sure 
that everything was known to him. “I’ll leave those 
blamed gypsies alone meanwhile,” finished Garvington, 
changing and finishing the conversation. “But I’ll 
speak to Pine when I see him.” 

“He returns from Paris in three weeks,” remarked 
Silver, at which information the gross little lord sim- 
ply hunched his fat shoulders. Much as Pine had done 
for him, Garvington hated the man with all the power 


RED MONEY 


107 


of his mean and narrow mind, and as the millionaire 
returned this dislike with a feeling of profound con- 
tempt, the two met as seldom as possible. Only Lady 
Agnes was the link between them, the visible object of 
sale and barter, which had been sold by one to the 
other. 

It was about this time that the house-party at The 
Manor began to break up; since it was now the first 
week in September, and many of the shooters wished 
to go north for better sport. Many of the men de- 
parted, and some of the women, who were due at other 
country houses; but Mrs. Belgrove and Miss Greeby 
still remained. The first because she found herself 
extremely comfortable, and appreciated Garvington’s 
cook; and the second on account of Lambert being 
in the vicinity. Miss Greeby had been very disap- 
pointed to learn that the young man had gone to Lon- 
don, but heard from Mrs. Tribb that he was expected 
back in three days. She therefore lingered so as to 
have another conversation with him, and meanwhile 
haunted the gypsy camp for the purpose of keeping an 
eye on Chaldea, who was much too beautiful for her 
peace of mind. Sometimes Silver accompanied her, 
as the lady had given him to understand that she knew 
Pine’s real rank and name, so the two were made 
free of the Bohemians and frequently chatted with 
Ishmael Hearne. But they kept his secret, as did 
Chaldea ; and Garvington had no idea that the man he 
dreaded and hated — who flung money to him as if he 
were tossing a bone to a dog — was within speaking 
distance. If he had known, he would assuredly have 
guessed the reason why Sir LIubert Pine had interested 
himself in the doings of a wandering tribe of unde- 
sirable creatures. 

A week passed away and still, although Miss 
Greeby made daily inquiries, Lambert did not put in 


108 


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an appearance at the forest cottage. Thinking that 
he had departed to escape her, she made up her im- 
patient mind to repair to London, and to hunt him up 
at his club. With this idea she intimated to Lady 
Garvington that she was leaving The Manor early next 
morning. The ladies had just left the dinner-table, 
and were having coffee in the drawing-room when 
Miss Greeby made this abrupt announcement. 

“Oh, my dear,” said Lady Garvington, in dismay. 
“I wish you would change your mind. Nearly every- 
one has gone, and the house is getting quite dull.” 

“Thanks ever so much,” remarked Mrs. Belgrove 
lightly. She sat near the fire, for the evening was 
chilly, and what with paint and powder, and hair-dye, 
to say nothing of her artistic and carefully chosen 
dress, looked barely thirty-five in the rosy lights cast 
by the shaded lamps. 

“I don’t mean you, dear,” murmured the hostess, 
who was even more untidy and helpless than usual. 
“You are quite a host in yourself. And that recipe 
you gave me for Patagonian soup kept Garvington in 
quite a good humor for ever so long. But the house 
will be dull for you without Clara.” 

“Agnes is here, Jane.” 

“I fear Agnes is not much of an entertainer,” said 
that lady, smiling in a weary manner, for this so- 
ciety chatter bored her greatly. 

“That’s not to be wondered at,” struck in Miss 
Greeby abruptly. “For of course you are thinking of 
your husband.” 

Lady Agnes colored slightly under Miss Greeby’s 
very direct gaze, but replied equably enough, to save 
appearances, “He is still in Paris.” 

“When did you last hear from him, dear?” ques- 
tioned Lady Garvington, more to manufacture con- 
versation than because she really cared. 


BED MONEY 


109 


‘‘Only to-day I had a letter. He is carrying out 
some special business and will return in two or three 
weeks.” 

“You will be glad to see him, no doubt,” sneered 
Miss Greeby. 

“I am always glad to see my husband and to be 
with him,” answered Lady Agnes in a dignified man- 
ner. She knew perfectly well that Miss Greeby hated 
her, and guessed the reason, but she was not going 
to give her any satisfaction by revealing the true feel- 
ings of her heart. 

“Well, I intend to stay here, Jane, if it’s all the 
same to you,” cried Mrs. Belgrove in her liveliest man- 
ner and with a side glance, taking in both Miss Greeby 
and Lady Agnes. “Only this morning I received a 
chit-chat letter from Mr. Lambert — we are great 
friends you know — saying that he intended to come 
here for a few days. Such a delightful man he 
is.” 

“Oh, dear me, yes,” cried Lady Garvington, start- 
ing. “I remember. He wrote yesterday from Lon- 
don, asking if he might come. I told him yes, although 
I mentioned that we had hardly anyone with us just 
now.” 

Miss Greeby looked greatly annoyed, as Mrs. Bel- 
grove maliciously saw, for she knew well that the 
heiress would now regret having so hastily intimated 
her approaching departure. What was the expression 
on Lady Agnes’s face, the old lady could not see, for 
the millionaire’s wife shielded it — presumably from the 
fire — with a large fan of white feathers. Had Mrs. 
Belgrove been able to read that countenance she would 
have seen satisfaction written thereon, and would 
probably have set down the expression to a wrong 
cause. In reality, Agnes was glad to think that Lam- 


110 


RED MONEY 


bert’s promise was being kept, and that he no longer 
intended to avoid her company so openly. 

But if she was pleased, Miss Greeby was not, and 
still continued to look annoyed, since she had burnt 
her boats by announcing her departure. And what 
annoyed her still more than her hasty decision was, 
that she would leave Lambert in the house along with 
the rival she most dreaded. Though what the young 
man could see in this pale, washed-out creature Miss 
Greeby could not imagine. She glanced at a near 
mirror and saw her own opulent, full-blown looks 
clothed in a pale-blue dinner-gown, which went so well 
* — as she inartistically decided, with her ruddy locks, 
Mrs. Belgrove considered that Miss Greeby looked 
like a paint-box, or a sunset, or one of Turner’s most 
vivid pictures, but the heiress was very well pleased 
with herself. Lady Agnes, in her favorite white, with 
her pale face and serious looks, was but a dull person 
of the nun persuasion. And Miss Greeby did not 
think that Lambert cared for nuns, when he had an 
Amazonian intelligent pal — so she put it — at hand. 
But, of course, he might prefer dark beauties like 
Chaldea. Poor Miss Greeby; she was pursuing her 
wooing under very great difficulties, and became silent 
in order to think out some way of revoking in some 
natural manner the information of her departure. 

There were other women in the room, who joined 
in the conversation, and all were glad to hear that 
Mr. Lambert intended to pay a visit to his cousin, for, 
indeed, the young man was a general favorite. And 
then as two or three decided — Mrs. Belgrove amongst 
the number — there really could be nothing in the re- 
port that he loved Lady Agnes still, else he would 
scarcely come and stay where she was. As for Pine’s 
wife, she was a washed-out creature, who had never 
really loved her cousin as people had thought. And 


BED MONEY 


111 


after all, why should she, since he was so poor, espe- 
cially when she was married to a millionaire with the 
looks of an Eastern prince, and manners of quite an 
original nature, although these were not quite conven- 
tional. Oh, yes, there was nothing in the scandal that 
said Garvington had sold his sister to bolster up the 
family property. Lady Agnes was quite happy, and 
her husband was a dear man, who left her a great deal 
to her own devices — which he wouldn’t have done had 
he suspected the cousin; and who gave her pots of 
money to spend. And what more could a sensible 
woman want? 

In this way those in the drawing-room babbled, 
while Agnes stared into the fire, bracing herself to 
encounter Lambert, who would surely arrive within 
the next two or three days, and while Miss Greeby 
savagely rebuked herself for having so foolishly inti- 
mated her departure. Then the men straggled in from 
their wine, and bridge became the order of the night 
with some, while others begged for music. After a 
song or so and the execution of a Beethoven sonata, 
to which no one paid any attention, a young lady 
gave a dance after the manner of Maud Allan, to 
which everyone attended. Then came feats of 
strength, in which Miss Greeby proved herself to be 
a female Sandow, and later a number of the guests so- 
journed to the billiard-room to play. When they grew 
weary of that, tobogganing down the broad staircase 
on trays was suggested and indulged in amidst 
shrieks of laughter. Afterwards, those heated by this 
horse-play strayed on to the terrace to breathe the 
fresh air, and flirt in the moonlight. In fact, every 
conceivable way of passing the time was taken ad- 
vantage of by these very bored people, who scarcely 
knew how to get through the long evening. 

“They seem to be enjoying themselves, Freddy,” 


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RED MONEY 


said Lady Garvington to her husband, when she 
drifted against him in the course of attending to her 
guests. “I really think they find this jolly.” 

“I don’t care a red copper what they find,” re- 
torted the little man, who was looking worried, and 
not quite his usual self. “I wish the whole lot would 
get out of the house. I’m sick of them.” 

“Ain’t you well, Freddy? I knew that Patagonian 
soup was too rich for you.” 

“Oh, the soup was all right — ripping soup,” snorted 
Freddy, smacking his lips over the recollection. “But 
I’m bothered over Pine.” 

“He isn’t ill, is he?” questioned Lady Garvington 
anxiously. She liked her brother-in-law, who was al- 
ways kind to her. 

“No, hang him; nothing worse than his usual lung 
trouble, I suppose. But he is in Paris, and won’t 
answer my letters.” 

“Letters, Freddy dear.” 

“Yes, Jane dear,” he mocked. “Hang it, I want 
money, and he won’t stump up. I can’t even get an 
answer.” 

“Speak to Mr. Silver.” 

“Damn Mr. Silver !” 

“Well, I’m sure, Frederick, you needn’t swear at 
me,” said poor, wan Lady Garvington, drawing her- 
self up. “Mr. Silver is very kind. He went to that 
gypsy camp and found out how they cook hedgehog. 
That will be a new dish for you, dear. You haven’t 
eaten hedgehog.” 

“No. And what’s more, I don’t intend to eat it. 
But you may as well tell me how these gypsies cook 
it,” and Freddy listened with both his red ears to the 
description, on hearing which he decided that his wife 
might instruct the cook how to prepare the animal. 
“But no one will eat it but me.” 


RED MONEY 


113 


Lady Garvington shuddered. “I shan’t touch it my- 
self. Those horried snails you insisted on being 
cooked a week ago made me quite ill. You are al- 
ways trying new experiments, Freddy.” 

“Because I get so tired of every-day dishes,” 
growled Lord Garvington. “These cooks have no in- 
vention. I wish I’d lived in Rome when they had those 
banquets you read of in Gibbon.” 

“Did he write a book on cookery?” asked Lady 
Garvington very naturally. 

“No. He turned out a lot of dull stuff about wars 
and migrations of tribes: you are silly, Jane.” 

“What’s that about migration of tribes?” asked 
Mrs. Belgrove, who was in a good humor, as she had 
won largely at bridge. “You don’t mean those dear 
gypsies at Abbot’s Wood do you, Lord Garvington? 
I met one of them the other day — quite a girl and 
very pretty in a dark way. She told my fortune, and 
said that I would come in for a lot of money. I’m 
sure I hope so,” sighed Mrs. Belgrove. “Celestine is 
so expensive, but no one can fit me like she can. And 
she knows it, and takes advantage, the horrid crea- 
ture.” 

“I wish the tribe of gypsies would clear out,” 
snapped Freddy, standing before the fire and glaring 
at the company generally. “I know they’ll break in 
here and rob.” 

“Well,” drawled Silver, who was hovering near, 
dressed so carefully that he looked more of a foxy, 
neat bounder than ever. “I have noticed that some 
of the brutes have been sneaking round the place.” 

Mrs. Belgrove shrieked. “Oh, how lucky I occupy 
a bedroom on the third floor. Just like a little bird 
in its tiny-weeny nest. They can’t get at me there, 
can they, Lord Garvington?” 

“They don’t want you,” observed Miss Greeby in 


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BED MONEY 


her deep voice. “It’s your diamonds they’d like to 
get.” 

“Oh!” Mrs. Belgrove shrieked again. “Lock my 
diamonds up in your strong room, Lord Garvington. 
Do! do! do! To please poor little me,” and she ef- 
fusively clasped her lean hands, upon which many of 
the said diamonds glittered. 

“I don’t think there is likely to be any trouble with 
these poor gypsies, Mrs. Belgrove,” remarked Lady 
Agnes negligently. “Hubert has told me a great deal 
about them, and they are really not so bad as people 
make out.” 

“Your husband can’t know anything of such rag- 
tags,” said Miss Greeby, looking at the beautiful, pale 
face, and wondering if she really had any suspicion 
that Pine was one of the crew she mentioned. 

“Oh, but Hubert does,” answered Lady Agnes in- 
nocently. “He has met many of them when he has 
been out helping people. You have no idea, any of 
you, how good Hubert is,” she added, addressing the 
company generally. “He walks on the Embankment 
sometimes on winter nights and gives the poor crea- 
tures money. And in the country I have often seen 
him stop to hand a shilling to some tramp in the 
lanes.” 

“A gypsy for choice,” growled Miss Greeby, mar- 
velling that Lady Agnes could not see the resemblance 
between the tramps’ faces and that of her own hus- 
band. “However, I hope Pine’s darlings won’t come 
here to rob. I’ll fight for my jewels, I can promise 
you.” 

One of the men laughed. “I shouldn’t like to get a 
blow from your fist.” 

Miss Greeby smiled grimly, and looked at his puny 
stature. “Women have to protect themselves from 
men like you,” she said, amidst great laughter, for 


RED MONEY 


115 


the physical difference between her and the man was 
quite amusing. 

“It’s all very well talking/' said Garvington crossly. 
“But I don’t trust these gypsies.” 

“Why don’t you clear them off your land then?” 
asked Silver daringly. 

Garvington glared until his gooseberry eyes nearly 
fell out of his red face. “I’ll clear everyone to bed, 
that’s what I’ll do,” he retorted, crossing the room to 
the middle French window of the drawing-room. “I 
wish you fellows would stop your larking out there,” 
he cried. “It’s close upon midnight, and all decent 
people should be in bed.” 

“Since when have you joined the Methodists, Gar- 
vington?” asked an officer who had come over from 
some twelve-mile distant barracks to pass the night, 
and a girl behind him began to sing a hymn. 

Lady Agnes frowned. “I wish you wouldn’t do 
that, Miss Ardale,” she said in sharp rebuke, and the 
girl had the sense to be silent, while Garvington fussed 
over the closing of the window shutters. 

“Going to stand a siege ?” asked Miss Greeby, laugh- 
ing. “Or do you expect burglars, particularly on this 
night.” 

“I don’t expect them at all,” retorted the little man. 
“But I tell you I hate the idea of these lawless gypsies 
about the place. Still, if anyone comes,” he added 
grimly, “I shall shoot.” 

“Then the attacking person or party needn’t bother,” 
cried the officer. “I shouldn’t mind standing up to 
your fire, myself, Garvington.” 

With laughter and chatter and much merriment at 
the host’s expense, the guests went their several ways, 
the women to chat in one another’s dressing-rooms 
and the men to have a final smoke and a final drink. 
Garvington, with two footmen, and his butler, went 


116 


RED MONEY 


round the house, carefully closing all the shutters, and 
seeing that all was safe. His sister rather marvelled 
at this excessive precaution, and said as much to her 
hostess. 

“It wouldn’t matter if the gypsies did break in,” she 
said when alone with Lady Garvington in her own 
bedroom. “It would be some excitement, for all these 
people must find it very dull here.” 

“I’m sure I do my best, Agnes,” said the sister-in- 
law plaintively. 

“Of course, you do, you poor dear,” said the other, 
kissing her. “But Garvington always asks people here 
who haven’t two ideas. A horrid, rowdy lot they 
are. I wonder you stand it.” 

“Garvington asks those he likes, Agnes.” 

“I see. He hasn’t any brains, and his guests suit 
him for the same reason.” 

“They eat a great deal,” wailed Lady Garvington. 
“I’m sure I might as well be a cook. All my time is 
taken up with feeding them.” 

“Well, Freddy married you, Jane, because you had 
a genius for looking after food. Your mother was 
much the same ; she always kept a good table.” Lady 
Agnes laughed. “Yours was a most original wooing, 
Jane.” 

“I’d like to live on bread and water for my part, 
Agnes.” 

“Put Freddy on it, dear. He’s getting too stout. 
I never thought that gluttony was a crime. But when 
I look at Freddy” — checking her speech, she spread 
out her hands with an ineffable look — “I’m glad that 
Noel is coming,” she ended, rather daringly. “At 
least he will be more interesting than any of these 
frivolous people you have collected.” 

Lady Garvington looked at her anxiously. “You 
don’t mind Noel coming?” 


RED MONEY 


117 


“No, dear. Why should I?” 

“Well you see, Agnes, I fancied ” 

“Don’t fancy anything. Noel and I entirely under- 
stand one another.” 

“I hope,” blurted out the other woman, “that it is 
a right understanding?” 

Agnes winced, and looked at her with enforced com- 
posure. “I am devoted to my husband,” she said, 
with emphasis. “And I have every reason to be. He 
has kept his part of the bargain, so I keep mine. But,” 
she added with a pale smile, “when I think how I 
sold myself to keep up the credit of the family, and 
now see Freddy entertaining this riff-raff, I am sorry 
that I did not marry Noel, whom I loved so dearly.” 

“That would have meant our ruin,” bleated Lady 
Garvington, sadly. 

“Your ruin is only delayed, Jane. Freddy is a 
weak, self-indulgent fool, and is eating his way into 
the next world. It will be a happy day for you when 
an apoplectic fit makes you a widow.” 

“My dear,” the wife was shocked, “he is your 
brother.” 

“More’s the pity. I have no illusions about Freddy, 
Jane, and I don’t think you have either. Now, go 
away and sleep. It’s no use lyin^ awake thinking over 
to-morrow’s dinner. Give Freddy the bread and 
water you talked about.” 

Lady Garvington laughed in a weak, aimless way, 
and then kissed her sister-in-law with a sigh, after 
which she drifted out of the room in her usual vague 
manner. Very shortly the clock over the stables 
struck midnight, and by that time Garvington the 
virtuous had induced all his men guests to go to bed. 
The women chatted a little longer, and then, in their 
turn, sought repose. By half-past twelve the great 


118 


RED MONEY 


house was in complete darkness, and bulked a mighty 
mass of darkness in the pale September moonlight. 

Lady Agnes got to bed quickly, and tired out by 
the boredom of the evening, quickly fell asleep. Sud- 
denly she awoke with all her senses on the alert, and 
with a sense of vague danger hovering round. There 
were sounds of running feet and indistinct oaths and 
distant cries, and she could have sworn that a pistol- 
shot had startled her from slumber. In a moment she 
was out of bed and ran to open her window. On 
looking out she saw that the moonlight was very bril- 
liant, and in it beheld a tall man running swiftly from 
the house. He sped down the broad path, and just 
when he was abreast of a miniature shrubbery, she 
heard a second shot, which seemed to be fired there- 
from. The man staggered, and stumbled and fell. 
Immediately afterwards, her brother — she recognized 
his voice raised in anger — ran out of the house, fol- 
lowed by some of the male guests. Terrified by the 
sight and the sound of the shots, Lady Agnes huddled 
on her dressing-gown hastily, and thrust her bare feet 
into slippers. The next moment she was out of her 
bedroom and down the stairs. A wild idea had en- 
tered her mind that perhaps Lambert had come secretly 
to The Manor, and had been shot by Garvington in 
mistake for a burglar. The corridors and the hall 
were filled with guests more or less lightly attired, 
mostly women, white-faced and startled. Agnes paid 
no attention to their shrieks, but hurried info the side 
passage which terminated at the door out of which 
her brother had left the house. She went outside also 
and made for the group round the fallen man. 

“What is it? who is it?” she asked, gasping with 
the hurry and the fright. 

“Go back, Agnes, go back,” cried Garvington, look- 


RED MONEY 


119 


in g up with a distorted face, strangely pale in the 
moonlight. 

“But who is it? who has been killed?” She caught 
sight of the fallen man’s countenance and shrieked. 
“Great heavens! it is Hubert; is he dead?” 

“Yes,” said Silver, who stood at her elbow. “Shot 
through the heart.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


AFTERWARDS. 

With amazing and sinister rapidity the news spread 
that a burglar had been shot dead while trying to 
raid The Manor. First, the Garvington villagers 
learned it; then it became the common property of 
the neighborhood, until it finally reached the nearest 
county town, and thus brought the police on the scene. 
Lord Garvington was not pleased when the local in- 
spector arrived, and intimated as much in a somewhat 
unpleasant fashion. He was never a man who spared 
those in an inferior social position. 

“It is no use your coming over, Darby/’ he said 
bluntly to the red-haired police officer, who was of 
Irish extraction. “I have sent to Scotland Yard.” 

“All in good time, my lord,” replied the inspector 
coolly. “As the murder has taken place in my dis- 
trict I have to look into the matter, and report to the 
London authorities, if it should be necessary.” 

“What right have you to class the affair as a mur- 
der?” inquired Garvington. 

“I only go by the rumors I have heard, my lord. 
Some say that you winged the man and broke his 
right arm. Others tell me that a second shot was 
fired in the garden, and it was that which killed 
Ishmael Hearne.” 

“It is true, Darby. I only fired the first shot, as 
those who were with me will tell you. I don’t know 
who shot in the garden, and apparently no one else 
120 


RED MONEY 


121 


does. It was this unknown individual in the garden 
that killed Hearne. By the way, how did you come 
to hear the name?” 

“Half a dozen people have told me, my lord, along 
with the information I have just given you. Nothing 
else is talked of far and wide.” 

“And it is just twelve o’clock,” muttered the stout 
little lord, wiping his scarlet face pettishly. “Ill news 
travels fast. However, as you are here, you may as 
well take charge of things until the London men ar- 
rive.” 

“The London men aren’t going to usurp my priv- 
ileges, my lord,” said Darby, firmly. “There’s no 
sense in taking matters out of my hands. And if you 
will pardon my saying so, I should have been sent 
for in the first instance.” 

“I daresay,” snapped Garvington, coolly. “But the 
matter is too important to be left in the hands of a 
local policeman.” 

Darby was nettled, and his hard eyes grew angry. 
“I am quite competent to deal with any murder, even 
if it is that of the highest in England, much less with 
the death of a common gypsy.” 

“That’s just where it is, Darby. The common gypsy 
who has been shot happens to be my brother-in-law.” 

“Sir Hubert Pine?” questioned the inspector, thor- 
oughly taken aback. 

“Yes ! Of course I didn’t know him when I fired, 
or I should not have done so, Darby. I understood, 
and his wife, my sister, understood, that Sir Hubert 
was in Paris. It passes my comprehension to guess 
why he should have come in the dead of night, dressed 
as a gypsy, to raid my house.” 

“Perhaps it was a bet,” said Darby, desperately 
puzzled. 

“Bet, be hanged! Pine could come openly to this 


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place whenever he liked. I never was so astonished 
in my life as when I saw him lying dead near the 
shrubbery. And the worst of it is, that my sister ran 
out and saw him also. She fainted and has been in 
bed ever since, attended by Lady Garvington.” 

“You had no idea that the man you shot was Sir 
Hubert, my lord?” 

“Hang it, no ! Would I have shot him had I guessed 
who he was?” 

“No, no, my lord! of course not,” said the officer 
hastily. “But as I have come to take charge of the 
case, you will give me a detailed account of what has 
taken place.” 

“I would rather wait until the Scotland Yard fel- 
lows come,” grumbled Garvington, “as I don’t wish 
to repeat my story twice. Still, as you are on the spot, 
I may as well ask your advice. You may be able to 
throw some light on the subject. I’m hanged if I 
can.” 

Darby pulled out his note-book. “I am all atten- 
tion, my lord.” 

Garvington plunged abruptly into his account, first 
having looked to see if the library door was firmly 
closed. “As there have been many burglaries lately 
in this part of the world,” he said, speaking with de- 
liberation, “I got an idea into my head that this house 
might be broken into.” 

“Natural enough, my lord,” interposed Darby, 
glancing round the splendid room. “A historic house 
such as this is, would tempt any burglar.” 

“So I thought,” remarked the other, pleased that 
Darby should agree with him so promptly. “And I 
declared several times, within the hearing of many 
people, that if a raid was made, I should shoot the 
first man who tried to enter. Hang it, an Englishman’s 


RED MONEY 


123 


house is his castle, and no man has a right to come in 
without permission,” 

“Quite so, my lord. But the punishment of the 
burglar should be left to the law,” said the inspector 
softly. 

“Oh, the deuce take the law ! I prefer to execute 
my own punishments. However, to make a long 
story short, I grew more afraid of a raid when these 
gypsies came to camp at Abbot’s Wood, as they are 
just the sort of scoundrels who would break in and 
steal.” 

“Why didn’t you order them off your land?” asked 
the policeman, alertly. 

“I did, and then my brother-in-law sent a message 
through his secretary, who is staying here, asking me 
to allow them to remain. I did.” 

“Why did Sir Hubert send that message, my 
lord?” 

“Hang it, man, that’s just what I am trying to 
learn, and I am the more puzzled because he came 
last night dressed as a gypsy.” 

“He must be one,” said Darby, who had seen Pine 
and now recalled his dark complexion and jetty eyes. 
“It seems, from what I have been told, that he stopped 
at the Abbot’s Wood camp under the name of Ishmael 
Hearne.” 

“So Silver informed me.” 

“Who is he?” 

“Pine’s secretary, who knows all his confidential 
affairs. Silver declared, when the secret could be kept 
no longer, that Pine was really a gypsy, called Ishmael 
Hearne. Occasionally longing for the old life, he 
stepped down from his millionaire pedestal and mixed 
with his own people. When he was supposed to be 
in Paris, he was really with the gypsies, so you can 


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now understand why he sent the message asking me to 
let these vagrants stay.” 

“You told me a few moments ago, that you could 
not understand that message, my lord,” said Darby 
quickly, and looking searchingly at the other man. 
Garvington grew a trifle confused. “Did I? Well, to 
tell you the truth, Darby, I’m so mixed up over the 
business that I can’t say what I do know, or what I 
don’t know. You’d better take all I tell you with a grain 
of salt until I am quite myself again.” 

“Natural enough, my lord,” remarked the inspector 
again, and quite believed what he said. “And the de- 
tails of the murder?” 

“I went to bed as usual,” said Garvington, wearily, 
for the events of the night had tired him out, “and 
everyone else retired some time about midnight. I 
went round with the footmen and the butler to see 
that everything was safe, for I was too anxious to let 
them look after things without me. Then I heard a 
noise of footsteps on the gravel outside, just as I was 
dropping off to sleep ” 

“About what time was that, my lord?” 

“Half-past one o’clock; I can’t be certain as to a 
minute. I jumped up and laid hold of my revolver, 
which was handy. I always kept it beside me in case 
of a burglary. Then I stole downstairs in slippers and 
pajamas to the passage, — oh, here.” Garvington rose 
quickly. “Come with me and see the place for your- 
self!” 

Inspector Darby put on his cap, and with his note- 
book still in his hand, followed the stout figure of his 
guide. Garvington led him through the entrance hall 
and into a side-passage, which terminated in a narrow 
door. There was no one to spy on them, as the mas- 
ter of the house had sent all the servants to their own 
quarters, and the guests were collected in the draw- 


RED MONEY 


125 


ing-room and smoking-room, although a few of the 
ladies remained in their bedrooms, trying to recover 
from the night’s experience. 

“I came down here,” said Garvington, opening the 
door, “and heard the burglar, as I thought he was, 
prowling about on the other side. I threw open the 
door in this way and the man plunged forward to 
enter. I fired, and got him in the right arm, for I 
saw it swinging uselessly by his side as he departed.” 

“Was he in a hurry?” asked Darby, rather need- 
lessly. 

“He went off like greased lightning. I didn’t follow, 
as I thought that others of his gang might be about, 
but closing the door again I shouted blue murder. In 
a few minutes everyone came down, and while I was 
waiting — it all passed in a flash, remember, Darby — I 
heard a second shot. Then the servants and my friends 
came and we ran out, to find the man lying by that 
shrubbery quite dead. I turned him over and had just 
grasped the fact that he was my brother-in-law, when 
Lady Agnes ran out. When she learned the news she 
naturally fainted. The women carried her back to her 
room, and we took the body of Pine into the house. 
A doctor came along this morning — for I sent for a 
doctor as soon as it was dawn — and said that Pine 
had been shot through the heart.” 

“And who shot him?” asked Darby sagely. 

Garvington pointed to the shrubbery. “Someone 
was concealed there,” he declared. 

“How do you know that, my lord ?” 

“My sister, attracted by my shot, jumped out of bed 
and threw up her window. She saw the man — of 
course she never guessed that he was Pine — running 
down the path and saw him fall by the shrubbery when 
the second shot was fired.” 


126 


RED MONEY 


'‘Her bedroom is then on this side of the house, my 
lord?” 

“Up there,” said Garvington, pointing directly over 
the narrow door, which was painted a rich blue color, 
and looked rather bizarre, set in the puritanic greyness 
of the walls. “My own bedroom is further along 
towards the right. That is why I heard the footsteps 
so plainly on this gravel.” And he stamped hard, 
while with a wave of his hand he invited the inspector 
to examine the surroundings. 

Darby did so with keen eyes and an alert brain. 
The two stood on the west side of the mansion, where 
it fronted the three-miles distant Abbot’s Wood. The 
Manor was a heterogeneous-looking sort of place, 
suggesting the whims and fancies of many generations, 
for something was taken away here, and something 
was taken away there, and this had been altered, 
while that had been left in its original state, until the 
house seemed to be made up of all possible architec- 
tural styles. It was a tall building of three stories, al- 
though the flattish red-tiled roofs took away some- 
what from its height, and spread over an amazing 
quantity of land. As Darby thought, it could have 
housed a regiment, and must have cost something to 
keep up. As wind and weather and time had mellowed 
its incongruous parts into one neutral tint, it looked 
odd and attractive. Moss and lichen, ivy and Vir- 
ginia creeper — this last flaring in crimson glory — 
clothed the massive stone walls with a gracious man- 
tle of natural beauty. Narrow stone steps, rather 
chipped, led down from the blue door to the broad, 
yellow path, which came round the rear of the house 
and swept down hill in a wide curve, past the minia- 
ture shrubbery, right into the bosom of the park. 

“This path,” explained Garvington, stamping again, 
“runs right through the park to a small wicket gate 


RED MONEY 


127 


set in the brick wall, which borders the high road, 
Darby.” 

“And that runs straightly past Abbot’s Wood,” 
mused the inspector. “Of course, Sir Hubert would 
know of the path and the wicket gate?” 

“Certainly; don’t be an ass, Darby,” cried Garving- 
ton petulantly. “He has been in this house dozens of 
times and knows it as well as I do myself. Why do 
you ask so obvious a question ?” 

“I was only wondering if Sir Hubert came by the 
high road to the wicket gate you speak of, Lord 
Garvington.” 

“That also is obvious,” retorted the other, irritably. 
“Since he wished to come here, he naturally would 
take the easiest way.” 

“Then why did he not enter by the main avenue 
gates ?” 

“Because at that hour they would be shut, and — 
since it is evident that his visit was a secret one — he 
would have had to knock up the lodge-keeper.” 

“Why was his visit a secret one ?” questioned Darby 
pointedly. 

“That is the thing that puzzles me. Anything 
more ?” 

“Yes? Why should Sir Hubert come to the blue 
door ?” 

“I can’t answer that question, either. The whole 
reason of his being here, instead of in Paris, is a mys- 
tery to me.” 

“Oh, as to that last, the reply is easy,” remarked the 
inspector. “Sir Hubert wished to revert to his free 
gypsy life, and pretended to be in Paris, so that he would 
follow his fancy without the truth becoming known. 
But why he should come on this particular night, and 
by this particular path to this particular door, is the 
problem I have to solve !” 


128 


RED MONEY 


“Quite so, and I only hope that you will solve it, 
for the sake of my sister.” 

Darby reflected for a moment or so. “Did Lady 
Agnes ask her husband to come here to see her pri- 
vately ?” 

“Hang it, no man !” cried Garvington, aghast. “She 
believed, as we all did, that her husband was in Paris, 
and certainly never dreamed that he was masquerad- 
ing as a gypsy three miles away.” 

“There was no masquerading about the matter, my 
lord,” said Darby, dryly ; “since Sir Hubert really was 
a gypsy called Ishmael Hearne. That fact will come 
out at the inquest.” 

“It has come out now: everyone knows the truth. 
And a nice thing it is for me and Lady Agnes.” 

“I don’t think you need worry about that, Lord 
Garvington. The honorable way in which the late Sir 
Hubert attained rank and gained wealth will reflect 
credit on his humble origin. When the papers learn 
the story ” 

“Confound the papers !” interrupted Garvington 
fretfully. “I sincerely hope that they won’t make too 
great a fuss over the business.” 

The little man’s hope was vain, as he might have 
guessed that it would be, for when the news became 
known in Fleet Street, the newspapers were only too 
glad to discover an original sensation for the dead sea- 
son. Every day journalists and special correspondents 
were sent down in such numbers that the platform of 
Wanbury Railway Station was crowded with them. 
As the town — it was the chief town of Hengishire — 
was five miles away from the village of Garvington, 
every possible kind of vehicle was used to reach the 
scene of the crime, and The Manor became a rendez- 
vous for all the morbid people, both in the neighbor- 
hood and out of it. The reporters in particular poked 


RED MONEY 129 


and pried all over the place, passing from the great 
house to the village, and thence to the gypsy camp on 
the borders of Abbot’s Wood. From one person and 
another they learned facts, which were published with 
such fanciful additions that they read like fiction. On 
the authority of Mother Cockleshell — who was not 
averse to earning a few shillings — a kind of Gil Bias 
tale was put into print, and the wanderings of Ish- 
mael Hearne were set forth in the picturesque style 
of a picarooning romance. But of the time when the 
adventurous gypsy assumed his Gentile name, the Ro- 
many could tell nothing, for obvious reasons. Until 
the truth became known, because of the man’s tragic 
and unforeseen death, those in the camp were not 
aware that he was a Gorgio millionaire. But where 
the story of Mother Cockleshell left off, that of Mark 
Silver began, for the secretary had been connected with 
his employer almost from the days of Hearne’s first 
exploits as Pine in London. And Silver — who also 
charged for the blended fact and fiction which he sup- 
plied — freely related all he knew. 

“Hearne came to London and called himself Hu- 
bert Pine,” he stated frankly, and not hesitating to 
confess his own lowly origin. “We met when I was 
starving as a toymaker in Whitechapel. I invented 
some penny toys, which Pine put on the market for 
me. They were successful and he made money. I am 
bound to confess that he paid me tolerably well, al- 
though he certainly took the lion’s share. With the 
money he made in this way, he speculated in South 
African shares, and, as the boom was then on, he sim- 
ply coined gold. Everything he touched turned into 
cash, and however deeply he plunged into the money 
market, he always came out top in the end. By turn- 
ing over his money and re-investing it, and by fresh 
speculations, he became a millionaire in a wonderfully 


130 


RED MONEY 


short space of time. Then he made me his secretary 
and afterwards took up politics. The Government 
gave him a knighthood for services rendered to his 
party, and he became a well-known figure in the world 
of finance. He married Lady Agnes Lambert, and — 
and — that’s all.” 

“You were aware that he was a gypsy, Mr. Silver ?” 
asked the reporter. 

“Oh, yes. I knew all about his origin from the 
first days of our acquaintanceship. He asked me to 
keep his true name and rank secret. As it was none 
of my business, I did so. At times Hearne — or rather 
Pine, as I know him best by that name — grew weary 
of civilization, and then would return to his own life 
of the tent and road. No one suspected amongst the 
Romany that he was anything else but a horsecoper. 
He always pretended to be in Paris, or Berlin, on 
financial affairs, when he went back to his people, and 
I transacted all business during his absence.” 

“You knew that he was at the Abbot’s Wood 
camp ?” 

“Certainly. I saw him there once or twice to re- 
ceive instructions about business. I expostulated with 
him for being so near the house where his brother-in- 
law and wife were living, as I pointed out that the 
truth might easily become known. But Pine merely 
said that his safety in keeping his secret lay in his 
daring to run the risk.” 

“Have you any idea that Sir Hubert intended to 
come by night to Lord Garvington’s house?” 

“Not the slightest. In fact, I told him that Lord 
Garvington was afraid of burglars, and had threat- 
ened to shoot any man who tried to enter the house.” 

All this Silver said in a perfectly frank, free-and- 
easy manner, and also related how the dead man had 
instructed him to ask Garvington to allow the gyp- 


RED MONEY 


131 


sies to remain in the wood. The reporter published 
the interview with sundry comments of his own, and 
it was read with great avidity by the public at large 
and by the many friends of the millionaire, who were 
surprised to learn of the double life led by the man. 
Of course, there was nothing disgraceful in Pine’s 
past as Ishmael Hearne, and all attempts to discover 
something shady about his antecedents were vain. 
Yet — as was pointed out — there must have been some- 
thing wrong, else the adventurer, as he plainly was, 
would not have met so terrible a death. But in spite 
of every one’s desire to find fire to account for the 
smoke, nothing to Pine’s disadvantage could be 
learned. Even at the inquest, and when the matter 
was thoroughly threshed out, the dead man’s charac- 
ter proved to be honorable, and — save in the innocent 
concealment of his real name and origin — his public 
and private life was all that could be desired. The 
whole story was not criminal, but truly romantic, and 
the final tragedy gave a grim touch to what was re- 
garded, even by the most censorious, as a picturesque 
narrative. 

In spite of all his efforts, Inspector Darby, of Wan- 
bury, could produce no evidence likely to show who 
had shot the deceased. Lord Garvington, under the 
natural impression that Pine was a burglar, had cer- 
tainly wounded him in the right arm, but it was the 
second shot, fired by some one outside the house, 
which had pierced the heart. This was positively 
proved by the distinct evidence of Lady Agnes her- 
self. She rose from her sick-bed to depose how she 
had opened her window, and had seen the actual death 
of the unfortunate man, whom she little guessed was 
her husband. The burglar — as she reasonably took 
him to be — was running down the path when she first 
caught sight of him, and after the first shot had been 


132 


RED MONEY 


fired. It was the second shot, which came from thd 
shrubbery — marked on the plan placed before th$ 
Coroner and jury — which had laid the fugitive low. 
Also various guests and servants stated that they had 
arrived in the passage in answer to Lord Garvington’s 
outcries, to find that he had closed the door pending 
their coming. Some had even heard the second shot 
while descending the stairs. It was proved, therefore, 
in a very positive manner, that the master of the 
house had not murdered the supposed robber. 

“I never intended to kill him,” declared Garving- 
ton when his evidence was taken. “All I intended to 
do, and all I did do, was to wing him, so that he might 
be captured on the spot, or traced later. I closed the 
door after firing the shot, as I fancied that he might 
have had some accomplices with him, and I wished 
to make myself safe until assistance arrived.” 

“You had no idea that the man was Sir Hubert 
Pine?” asked a juryman. 

“Certainly not. I should not have fired had I rec- 
ognized him. The moment I opened the door he 
flung himself upon me. I fired and he ran away. It 
was not until we all went out and found him dead by 
the shrubbery that I recognized my brother-in-law. 
I thought he was in Paris.” 

Inspector Darby deposed that he had examined the 
shrubbery, and had noted broken twigs here and there, 
which showed that some one must have been concealed 
behind the screen of laurels. The grass — somewhat 
long in the thicket — had been trampled. But nothing 
had been discovered likely to lead to the discovery of 
the assassin who had been ambushed in this manner. 

“Are there no footmarks?” questioned the Coroner. 

“There has been no rain for weeks to soften the 
ground,” explained the witness, “therefore it is impos- 
sible to discover any footmarks. The broken twigs 


RED MONEY 


133 


and trampled grass show that some one was hidden 
in the shrubbery, but when this person left the screen 
of laurels, there is nothing to show in which direc- 
tion the escape was made.” 

And indeed all the evidence was useless to trace the 
criminal. The Manor had been bolted and barred by 
Lord Garvington himself, along with some footmen 
and his butler, so no one within could have fired the 
second shot. The evidence of Mother Cockleshell, of 
Chaldea, and of various other gypsies, went to show 
that no one had left the camp on that night with the 
exception of Hearne, and even his absence had not 
been made known until the fact of the death was made 
public next morning. Hearne, as several of the gyp- 
sies stated, had retired about eleven to his tent and 
had said nothing about going to The Manor, much 
less about leaving the camp. Silver’s statements re- 
vealed nothing, since, far from seeking his brother- 
in-law’s house, Pine had pointedly declared that in 
order to keep his secret he would be careful not to go 
near the place. 

“And Pine had no enemies to my knowledge who 
desired his death,” declared the secretary. “We were 
so intimate that had his life been in danger he cer- 
tainly would have spoken about it to me.” 

“You can throw no light on the darkness?” asked 
the Coroner hopelessly. 

“None,” said the witness. “Nor, so far as I can 
see, is any one else able to throw any light on the sub- 
ject. Pine’s secret was not a dishonorable one, as 
he was such an upright man that no one could have 
desired to kill him.” 

Apparently there was no solution to the mystery, 
as every one concluded, when the evidence was fully 
threshed out. An open verdict was brought in, and 
the proceedings ended in this unsatisfactory manner. 


134 


RED MONEY 


“Wilful murder against some person or persons un- 
known,” said Lambert, when he read the report of the 
inquest in his St. James’s Street rooms. “Strange. I 
wonder who cut the Gordian knot of the rope which 
bound Agnes to Pine?” 

He could find no reply to this question, nor could 
any one else. 


CHAPTER X. 


A DIFFICULT POSITION. 

Lord Garvington was not a creditable member of 
the aristocracy, since his vices greatly exceeded his 
virtues. With a weak nature, and the tastes of a 
sybarite, he required a great deal of money to render 
him happy. Like the immortal Becky Sharp, he could 
have been fairly honest if possessed of a large income ; 
but not having it he stopped short of nothing save 
actual criminality in order to indulge his luxurious 
tastes to the full. Candidly speaking, he had already 
overstepped the mark when he altered the figures of a 
check his brother-in-law had given him, and, had not 
Pine been so generous, he would have undoubtedly 
occupied an extremely unpleasant position. However, 
thanks to Agnes, the affair had been hushed up, and 
with characteristic promptitude. Garvington had con- 
veniently forgotten how nearly he had escaped the 
iron grip of Justice. In fact, so entirely did it slip his 
memory that — on the plea of Pine’s newly discovered 
origin — he did not desire the body to be placed in the 
family vault. But the widow wished to pay this honor 
to her husband’s remains, and finally got her own way 
in the matter, for the simple reason that now she was 
the owner of Pine’s millions Garvington did not wish 
to offend her. But, as such a mean creature would, he 
made capital out of the concession. 

“Since I do this for you, Agnes,” he said bluntly, 

135 


136 


RED MONEY 


when the question was being decided, “you must do 
something for me.” 

“What do you wish me to do ?” 

“Ah — hum — hey — ho!” gurgled Garvington, think- 
ing cunningly that it was too early yet to exploit her. 
“We can talk about it when the will has been read, and 
we know exactly how we stand. Besides your grief 
is sacred to me, my dear. Shut yourself up and cry.” 

Agnes had a sense of humor, and the blatant hypoc- 
risy of the speech made her laugh outright in spite of 
the genuine regret she felt for her husband’s tragic 
death. Garvington was quite shocked. “Do you for- 
get that the body is yet in the house?” he asked with 
heavy solemnity. 

“I don’t forget anything,” retorted Agnes, becom- 
ing scornfully serious. “Not even that you count on 
me to settle your wretched financial difficulties out of 
poor Hubert’s money.” 

“Of course you will, my dear. You are a Lam- 
bert.” 

“Undoubtedly ; but I am not necessarily a fool.” 

“Oh, I can’t stop and hear you call yourself such 
a name,” said Garvington, ostentatiously dense to her 
true meaning. “It is hysteria that speaks, and not 
my dear sister. Very natural when you are so grieved. 
We are all mortal.” 

“You are certainly silly in addition,” replied the 
widow, who knew how useless it was to argue with 
the man. “Go away and don’t worry me. When poor 
Hubert is buried, and the will is read, I shall announce 
my intentions.” 

“Intentions! Intentions!” muttered the corpulent 
little lord, taking a hasty departure out of diplomacy. 
“Surely, Agnes won’t be such a fool as to let the 
family estates go.” 

It never struck him that Pine might have so 


RED MONEY 


137 


worded the will that the inheritance he counted upon 
might not come to the widow, unless she chose to 
fulfil a certain condition. But then he never 
guessed the jealousy with which the hot-blooded gypsy 
had regarded the early engagement of Agnes and 
Lambert. If he had done so, he assuredly would not 
have invited the young man down to the funeral. 
But he did so, and talked about doing so, with a fre- 
quent mention that the body was to rest in the sacred 
vault of the Lamberts so that every one should ap- 
plaud his generous humility. 

“Poor Pine was only a gypsy,” said Garvington, on 
all and every occasion. “But I esteemed him as a good 
and honest man. Lie shall have every honor shown 
to his memory. Noel and I, as representatives of his 
wife, my dear sister, shall follow him to the Lambert 
vault, and there, with my ancestors, the body of this 
honorable, though humble, man shall rest until the 
Day of Judgment.” 

A cynic in London laughed when the speech was re- 
ported to him. “If Garvington is buried in the same 
vault,” he said contemptuously, “he will ask Pine for 
money, as soon as they rise to attend the Great As- 
sizes !” which bitter remark showed that the little man 
could not induce people to believe him so disinterested 
as he should have liked them to consider him. 

However, in pursuance of this artful policy, he cer- 
tainly gave the dead man, what the landlady of the 
village inn called, “a dressy funeral.” All that could 
be done in the way of pomp and ceremony was done, 
and the procession which followed Ishmael Hearne 
to the grave was an extraordinarily long one. The 
villagers came because, like all the lower orders, they 
loved the excitement of an interment ; the gypsies from 
the camp followed, since the deceased was of their 
blood; and many people in financial and social circles 


138 RED MONEY 


came down from London for the obvious reason that 
Pine was a well-known figure in the City and the 
West End, and also a member of Parliament. As for 
Lambert, he put in an appearance, in response to his 
cousin’s invitation, unwillingly enough, but in order to 
convince Agnes that he had every desire to obey her 
commands. People could scarcely think that Pine had 
been jealous of the early engagement to Agnes, when 
her former lover attended the funeral of a successful 
rival. 

Of course, the house party at The Manor had broken 
up immediately after the inquest. It would have dis- 
integrated before only that Inspector Darby insisted 
that every one should remain for examination in con- 
nection with the late tragical occurrence. But in 
spite of questioning and cross-questioning, nothing had 
been learned likely to show who had murdered the 
millionaire. There was a great deal of talk after the 
body had been placed in the Lambert vault, and there 
was more talk in the newspapers when an account was 
given of the funeral. But neither by word of mouth, 
nor in print, was any suggestion made likely to afford 
the slightest clue to the name or the whereabouts of 
the assassin. Having regard to Pine’s romantic ca- 
reer, it was thought by some that the act was one of 
revenge by a gypsy jealous that the man should attain 
to such affluence, while others hinted that the motive 
for the crime was to be found in connection with the 
millionaire’s career as a Gentile. Gradually, as all 
conjecture proved futile, the gossip died away, and 
other events usurped the interest of the public. Pine, 
who was really Hearne, had been murdered and 
buried; his assassin would never be discovered, since 
the trail was too well hidden; and Lady Agnes in- 
herited at least two millions on which she would prob- 
ably marry her cousin and so restore the tarnished 


RED MONEY 


139 


splendors of the Lambert family. In this way the 
situation was summed up by the gossips, and then they 
began to talk of something else. The tragedy was 
only a nine minutes' wonder after all. 

The gossips both in town and country were certainly 
right in assuming that the widow inherited the vast 
property of her deceased husband. But what they 
did not know was that a condition attached to such in- 
heritance irritated Agnes and caused Garvington un- 
feigned alarm. Pine’s solicitor — he was called Jarwin 
and came from a stuffy little office in Chancery Lane 
— called Garvington aside, when the mourners re- 
turned from the funeral, and asked that the reading 
of the will might be confined to a few people whom 
he named. 

“There is a condition laid down by the testator which 
need not be made public,” said Mr. Jarwin blandly. 
“A proposition which, if possible, must be kept out of 
print.” 

Garvington, with a sudden recollection of his in- 
iquity in connection with the falsified check, did not 
dare to ask questions, but hastily summoned the peo- 
ple named by the lawyer. As these were the widow. 
Lady Garvington, himself, and his cousin Noel, the 
little man had no fear of what might be forthcoming, 
since with relatives there could be no risk of betrayal. 
All the same, he waited for the reading of the will 
with some perturbation, for the suggested secrecy 
hinted at some posthumous revenge on the part of the 
dead man. And, hardened as he was, Garvington did 
not wish his wife and Lambert to become acquainted 
with his delinquency. He was, of course, unaware that 
the latter knew about it through Agnes, and knew also 
how it had been used to coerce her — for the pressure 
amounted to coercion — into a loveless marriage. 

The quintette assembled in a small room near the 


140 


RED MONEY 


library, and when the door and window were closed 
there was no chance that any one would overhear the 
conference. Lambert was rather puzzled to know 
why he had been requested to be present, as he had 
no idea that Pine would mention him in the will. 
However, he had not long to wait before he learned 
the reason, for the document produced by Mr. Jarwin 
was singularly short and concise. Pine had never 
been a great speaker, and carried his reticence into his 
testamentary disposition. Five minutes was sufficient 
for the reading of the will, and those present learned 
that all real and personal property had been left un- 
reservedly to Agnes Pine, the widow of the testator, 
on condition that she did not marry Noel Tamsworth 
Leighton Lambert. If she did so, the money was to 
pass to a certain person, whose name was mentioned 
in a sealed envelope held by Mr. Jarwin. This was 
only to be opened when Agnes Pine formally relin- 
quished her claim to the estate by marrying Noel 
Lambert. Seeing that the will disposed of two millions 
sterling, it was a remarkably abrupt document, and 
the reading of it took the hearers’ breath away. 

Garvington, relieved from the fears of his guilty 
conscience, was the first to recover his power of 
speech. He looked at the lean, dry lawyer, and de- 
manded fiercely if no legacy had been left to him. 
“Surely Pine did not forget me?” he lamented, with 
more temper than sorrow. 

“You have heard the will,” said Mr. Jarwin, fold- 
ing up the single sheet of legal paper on which the 
testament was inscribed. 

“There are no legacies.” 

“None at all.” 

“Hasn’t Pine remembered Silver?” 

“He has remembered nothing and no one save Lady 
Agnes.” Jarwin bowed to the silent widow, who 


RED MONEY 


141 


could not trust herself to speak, so angered was she 
by the cruel way in which her husband had shown his 
jealousy. 

"It’s all very dreadful and very disagreeable,” said 
Lady Garvington in her weak and inconsequent way. 
"I’m sure I was always nice to Hubert and he might 
have left me a few shillings to get clothes. Every- 
thing goes in cooks and food and ” 

"Hold your tongue, Jane,” struck in her husband 
crossly. "You’re always thinking of frocks and frills. 
But I agree with you this will is dreadful. I am not 
going to sit under such a beastly sell you know,” he 
added, turning to Jarwin. "I shall contest the will.” 

The lawyer coughed dryly and smiled. "As you are 
not mentioned in the testament, Lord Garvington, I 
fail to see what you can do.” 

"Hum ! hum ! hum !” Garvington was rather dis- 
concerted. "But Agnes can fight it.” 

"Why should I?” questioned the widow, who was 
very pale and very quiet. 

"Why should you ?” blustered her brother. "It pre- 
vents your marrying again.” 

"Pardon me, it does not,” corrected Mr. Jarwin, 
with another dry cough. "Lady Agnes can marry any 

one she chooses to, save ” His eyes rested on the 

calm and watchful face of Lambert. 

The young man colored, and glancing at Agnes, was 
about to speak. But on second thoughts he checked 
himself, as he did not wish to add to the embarrass- 
ment of the scene. It was the widow who replied. 
"Did Sir Hubert tell you why he made such a pro- 
vision ?” she asked, striving to preserve her calmness, 
which was difficult under the circumstances. 

"Why, no,” said Jarwin, nursing his chin reflect- 
ively. "Sir Hubert was always of a reticent disposi- 
tion. He simply instructed me to draw up the will 


142 


RED MONEY 


you have heard, and gave me no explanation. Every- 
thing is in order, and I am at your service, madam, 
whenever you choose to send for me.” 

“But suppose I marry Mr. Lambert ” 

“Agnes, you won’t be such a fool!” shouted her 
brother, growing so scarlet that he seemed to be on 
the point of an apoplectic fit. 

She turned on him with a look, which reduced him 
to silence, but carefully avoided the eyes of the cousin. 
“Suppose I marry Mr. Lambert ?” she asked again. 

“In that case you will lose the money,” replied Jar- 
win, slightly weary of so obvious an answer having to 
be made. “You have heard the will.” 

“Who gets the money then?” 

This was another ridiculous question, as Jarwin, 
and not without reason, considered. 

“Would you like me to read the will again?” he 
asked sarcastically. 

“No. I am aware of what it contains.” 

“In that case, you must know, madam, that the 
money goes to a certain person whose name is men- 
tioned in a sealed envelope, now in my office safe.” 

“Who is the person?” demanded Garvington, with 
a gleam of hope that Pine might have made him the 
legatee. 

“I do not know, my lord. Sir Hubert Pine wrote 
down the name and address, sealed the envelope, and 
gave it into my charge. It can only be opened when 

the ceremony of marriage takes place between ” 

he bowed again to Lady Agnes and this time also to 
Lambert. 

“Pine must have been insane,” said Garvington, 
fuming. “He disguises himself as a gypsy, and comes 
to burgle my house, and makes a silly will which ought 
to be upset.” 

“Sir Hubert never struck me as insane,” retorted 


RED MONEY 


143 


Jarwin, putting the disputed will into his black leather 
bag. “A man who can make two million pounds in so 
short a space of time can scarcely be called crazy.” 

'‘But this masquerading as a gypsy and a burglar,” 
urged Garvington irritably. 

“He was actually a gypsy, remember, my lord, and 
it was natural that he should wish occasionally to get 
back to the life he loved. As to his being a burglar, 
I venture to disagree with you. He had some reason 
to visit this house at the hour and in the manner he 
did, and doubtless if he had lived he would have ex- 
plained. But whatever might have been his motive, 
Lord Garvington, I am certain it was not connected 
with robbery.” 

“Well,” snapped the fat little man candidly, “if I 
had known that Pine was such a blighter as to leave 
me nothing, I’m hanged if I’d have allowed him to be 
buried in such decent company.” 

“Freddy, Freddy, the poor man is dead. Let him 
rest,” said Lady Garvington, who looked more limp 
and untidy than ever. 

“I wish he was resting somewhere else than in my 
vault. A damned gypsy !” 

“And my husband,” said Lady Agnes sharply. 
“Don’t forget that, Garvington.” 

“I wish I could forget it. Much use he has been to 
us.” 

“You have no cause to complain,” said his sister 
with a meaning glance, and Garvington suddenly sub- 
sided. 

“Won’t you say something, Noel?” asked Lady 
Garvington dismally. 

“I don’t see what there is to say,” he rejoined, not 
lifting his eyes from the ground. 

“There you are wrong,” remarked Agnes with a 
sudden flush. “There is a very great deal to say, but 


144 


RED MONEY 


this is not the place to say it. Mr. Jarwin,” she rose 
to her feet, looking a queenly figure in her long black 
robes, “you can return to town and later will receive 
my instructions.” 

The lawyer looked hard at her marble face, wonder- 
ing whether she would choose the lover or the money. 
It was a hard choice, and a very difficult position. 
He could not read in her eyes what she intended to 
do, so mutely bowed and took a ceremonious depar- 
ture, paying a silent tribute to the widow’s strength 
of mind. “Poor thing; poor thing,” thought the so- 
licitor, “I believe she loves her cousin. It is hard that 
she can only marry him at the cost of becoming a 
pauper. A difficult position for her, indeed. H’m ! 
she’ll hold on to the money, of course; no woman 
would be such a fool as to pay two millions sterling 
for a husband.” 

In relation to nine women out of ten, this view 
would have been a reasonable one to take, but Agnes 
happened to be the tenth, who had the singular taste 
— madness some would have called it — to prefer love 
to hard cash. Still, she made no hasty decision, seeing 
that the issues involved in her renunciation were so 
great. Garvington, showing a characteristic want of 
tact, began to argue the question almost the moment 
Jarwin drove away from The Manor, but his sister 
promptly declined to enter into any discussion. 

“You and Jane can go away,” said she, cutting him 
short. “I wish to have a private conversation with 
Noel.” 

“For heaven’s sake don’t give up the money,” whis- 
pered Garvington in an agonized tone when at the 
door. 

“I sold myself once to help the family,” she replied 
in the same low voice; “but I am not so sure that I 
am ready to do so twice.” 


RED MONEY 


145 


“Quite right, dear,” said Lady Garvington, patting 
the widow’s hand. “It is better to have love than 
money. Besides, it only means that Freddy will have 
to give up eating rich dinners which don’t agree with 
him.” 

“Come away, you fool!” cried Freddy, exasperated, 
and, seizing her arm, he drew her out of the room, 
growling like a sick bear. 

Agnes closed the door, and returned to look at 
Lambert, who still continued to stare at the carpet with 
folded arms. “Well?” she demanded sharply. 

“Well?” he replied in the same tone, and without 
raising his eyes. 

“Is that all you have to say, Noel ?” 

“I don’t see what else I can say. Pine evidently 
guessed that we loved one another, although heaven 
knows that our affection has been innocent enough, 
and has taken this way to part us forever.” 

“Will it part us forever?” 

“I think so. As an honorable man, and one who 
loves you dearly, I can’t expect you to give up two 
millions for the sake of love in a cottage with me. It 
is asking too much.” 

“Not when a woman loves a man as I love you.” 

This time Lambert did look up, and his eyes flashed 
with surprise and delight. “Agnes, you don’t mean to 
say that you would ” 

She cut him short by sitting down beside him and 
taking his hand. “I would rather live on a crust with 
you in the Abbot’s Wood Cottage than in Park Lane 
a lonely woman with ample wealth.” 

“You needn’t remain lonely long,” said Lambert 
moodily. “Pine’s will does not forbid you to marry 
any one else.” 

“Do I deserve that answer, Noel, after what I have 
just said?” 


146 


BED MONEY 


“No, dear, no.” He pressed her hand warmly. 
“But you must make some allowance for my feelings. 
It is right that a man should sacrifice all for a woman, 
but that a woman should give up everything for a man 
seems wrong.” 

“Many women do, if they love truly as I do.” 

“But, Agnes, think what people will say about me.” 

“That will be your share of the sacrifice,” she re- 
plied promptly. “If I do this, you must do that. 
There is no difficulty when the matter is looked on in 
that light. But there is a graver question to be an- 
swered.” 

Lambert looked at her in a questioning manner and 
read the answer in her eyes. “You mean about the 
property of the family ?” 

“Yes.” Agnes heaved a sigh and shook her head. 
“I wish I had been born a village girl rather than the 
daughter of a great house. Rank has its obligations, 
Noel. I recognized that before, and therefore mar- 
ried Hubert. He was a good, kind man, and, save that 
I lost you, I had no reason to regret becoming his wife. 
But I did not think that he would have put such an 
insult on me.” 

“Insult, dear?” Lambert flushed hotly. 

“What else can you call this forbidding me to 
marry you? The will is certain to be filed at Somer- 
set House, and the contents will be made known to the 
public in the usual way, through the newspapers. 
Then what will people say, Noel ? Why, that I became 
Hubert’s wife in order to get his money, since, know- 
ing that he was consumptive, I hoped he would soon 
die, and that as a rich widow I could console myself 
with you. They will chuckle to see how my scheme 
has been overturned by the will.” 

“But you made no such scheme.” 

“Of course not. Still, everyone will credit me with 


RED MONEY 


147 


having done so. As a woman, who has been insulted, 
and by a man who has no reason to mistrust me, I feel 
inclined to renounce the money and marry you, if only 
to show how I despise the millions. But as a Lambert 
I must think again of the family as I thought before. 
The only question is, whether it is wise to place duty 
above love for the second time, considering the misery 
we have endured, and the small thanks we have re- 
ceived for our self-denial ?” 

“Surely Garvington’s estates are free by now?” 

“No ; they are not. Hubert, as I told you when we 
spoke in the cottage, paid off many mortgages, but re- 
tained possession of them. He did not charge Gar- 
vington any interest, and let him have the income of 
the mortgaged land. No one could have behaved bet- 
ter than Hubert did, until my brother’s demands be- 
came so outrageous that it was impossible to go on 
lending and giving him money. Hubert did not trust 
him so far as to give back the mortgages, so these will 
form a portion of his estate. As that belongs to me, I 
can settle everything with ease, and place Garvington 
in an entirely satisfactory condition. But I do that at 
the cost of losing you, dear. Should the estates pass 
to this unknown person, the mortgages would be fore- 
closed, and our family would be ruined.” 

“Are things as bad as that ?” 

“Every bit as bad. Hubert told me plainly how 
matters stood. For generations the heads of the fam- 
ily have been squandering money. Freddy is just as 
bad as the rest, and, moreover, has no head for figures. 
He does not know the value of money, never having 
been in want of it. But if everything was sold up — 
and it must be if I marry you and lose the millions — 
he will be left without an acre of land and only three 
hundred a year.” 

“Oh, the devil!” Lambert jumped up and began 


148 RED MONEY 


to walk up and down the room with a startled air. 
“That would finish the Lambert family with a venge- 
ance, Agnes. What do you wish me to do?” he 
asked, after a pause. 

“Wait,” she said quietly. 

“Wait ? For what — the Deluge ?” 

“It won’t come while I hold the money. I have 
a good business head, and Hubert taught me how to 
deal with financial matters. I could not give him love, 
but I did give him every attention, and I believe that 
I was able to help him in some ways. I shall utilize 
my experience to see the family lawyer and go into 
matters thoroughly. Then we shall know for certain 
if things are as bad as Hubert made out. If they are, 
I must sacrifice you and myself for the sake of our 
name ; if they are not ” 

“Well?” asked Lambert, seeing how she hesitated. 
Agnes crossed the room and placed her arms round his 
neck with a lovely color tinting her wan cheeks. 
“Dear,” she whispered, “I shall marry you. In doing 
so I am not disloyal to Hubert’s memory, since I have 
always loved you, and he accepted me as his wife on 
the understanding that I could not give him my heart. 
And now that he has insulted me,” she drew back, and 
her eyes flashed, “I feel free to become your wife.” 

“I see,” Lambert nodded. “We must wait?” 

“We must wait. Duty comes before love. But I 
trust that the sacrifice will not be necessary. Good- 
bye, dear,” and she kissed him. 

“Good-bye,” repeated Lambert, returning the kiss. 
Then they parted. 


CHAPTER XI. 


BLACKMAIL. 

Having come to the only possible arrangement, 
consistent with the difficult position in which they 
stood, Lambert and Lady Agnes took their almost im- 
mediate departure from The Manor. The young man 
had merely come to stay there in response to his 
cousin’s request, so that his avoidance of her should 
not be too marked, and the suspicions of Pine excited. 
Now that the man was dead, there was no need to 
behave in this judicious way, and having no great 
love for Garvington, whom he thoroughly despised, 
Lambert returned to his forest cottage. There he 
busied himself once more with his art, and waited 
patiently to see what the final decision of Agnes 
would be. He did not expect to hear for some weeks, 
or even months, as the affairs of Garvington, being 
very much involved, could not be understood in a 
moment. But the lovers, parted by a strict sense of 
duty, eased their minds by writing weekly letters to 
one another. 

Needless to say, Garvington did not at all approve 
of the decision of his sister, which she duly communi- 
cated to him. He disliked Lambert, both as the next 
heir to the estates, and because he was a more popular 
man than himself. Even had Pine not prohibited the 
marriage in his will, Garvington would have objected 
to Agnes becoming the young man’s wife ; as it was, 
he stormed tempests, but without changing the 
149 


150 


RED MONEY 


widow’s determination. Being a remarkably selfish 
creature, all he desired was that Agnes should live 
a solitary life as a kind of banker, to supply him with 
money whenever he chose to ask for the same. Pine 
he had not been able to manage, but he felt quite sure 
that he could bully his sister into doing what he 
wanted. It both enraged and surprised him to find 
that she had a will of her own and was not content 
to obey his egotistical orders. Agnes would not even 
remain under his roof — as he wanted her to, lest some 
other person should get hold of her and the desirable 
millions — but returned to her London house. The 
only comfort he had was that Lambert was not with 
her, and therefore — as he devoutly hoped — she would 
meet some man who would cause her to forget the 
Abbot’s Wood recluse. So long as Agnes retained 
the money, Garvington did not particularly object to 
her marrying, as he always hoped to cajole and bully 
ready cash out of her, but he would have preferred 
had she remained single, as then she could be more 
easily plundered. 

“And yet I don’t know,” he said to his long-suffer- 
ing wife. “While she’s a widow there’s always the 
chance that she may take the bit between her teeth 
and marry Noel, in which case she loses everything. 
It will be as well to get her married.” 

“You will have no selection of the husband this 
time,” said Lady Garvington, whose sympathies were 
entirely for Agnes. “She will choose for herself.” 

“Let her,” retorted Garvington, with feigned gen- 
erosity. “So long as she does not choose Noel; hang 
him !” 

“He’s the very man she will choose,” replied his 
wife, and Garvington, uneasily conscious that she was 
probably right, cursed freely all women in general and 
his sister in particular. Meanwhile he went to Paris 


RED MONEY 


151 


to look after a famous chef, of whom he had heard 
great things, and left his wife in London with strict 
injunctions to keep a watch on Agnes. 

The widow was speedily made aware of these in- 
structions, for when Lady Garvington came to stay 
with her sister-in-law at the sumptuous Mayfair man- 
sion, she told her hostess about the conversation. 
More than that, she even pressed her to marry Noel, 
and be happy. 

“Money doesn’t do so much, after all, when you 
come to think of it,” lamented Lady Garvington. 
“And I know you’d be happier with Noel, than living 
here with all this horrid wealth.” 

“What would Freddy say if he heard you talk so, 
Jane?” 

“I don’t know what else he can say,” rejoined the 
other reflectively. “He’s never kept his temper or held 
his tongue with me. His liver is nearly always out 
of order with over-eating. However,” she added 
cheering up, “he is sure to die of apoplexy before 
long, and then I shall live on tea and buns for the rest 
of my life. I simply hate the sight of a dinner table.” 

“Freddy isn’t a pretty sight during a meal,” admit- 
ted his sister with a shrug. “All the same you 
shouldn’t wish him dead, Jane. You might have a 
worse husband.” 

* ‘I’d rather have a profligate than a glutton, Agnes. 
But Freddy won’t die, my dear. He’ll go to Wies- 
baden, or Vichy, or Schwalbach, and take the waters 
to get thin ; then he’ll return to eat himself to the size 
of a prize pig again. But thank goodness,” said Lady 
Garvington, cheering up once more, “he’s away for a 
few weeks, and we can enjoy ourselves. But do let us 
have plain joints and no sauces, Agnes.” 

“Oh, you can live on bread and water if you 
choose,” said the widow good-humoredly. “It’s a pity 


152 


RED MONEY 


I am in mourning, as I can’t take you out much. But 
the motor is always at your disposal, and I can give 
you all the money you want. Get a few dresses ” 

“And hats, and boots, and shoes, and — and — oh, I 
don’t know what else. You’re a dear, Agnes, and 
although I don’t want to ruin you, I do want heaps 
of things. I’m in rags, as Freddy eats up our entire 
income.” 

“You can’t ruin a woman with two millions, Jane. 
Get what you require and I’ll pay. I am only too 
glad to give you some pleasure, since I can’t attend to 
you as I ought to. But you see, nearly three times 
a week I have to consult the lawyers about settling 
Freddy’s affairs.” 

On these conditions four or five weeks passed away 
very happily for the two women. Lady Garvington 
certainly had the time of her life, and regained a por- 
tion of her lost youth. She revelled in shopping, went 
in a quiet way to theatres, patronized skating rinks, 
and even attended one or two small winter dances. 
And to her joy, she met with a nice young man, who 
was earnestly in pursuit of a new religion, which in- 
volved much fasting and occasional vegetarian meals. 
He taught her to eat nuts, and eschew meats, talking 
meanwhile of the psychic powers which such abstemi- 
ousness would develop in her. Of course Lady Gar- 
vington did not overdo this asceticism, but she was 
thankful to meet a man who had not read Beeton’s 
Cookery Book. Besides, he flirted quite nicely. 

Agnes, pleased to see her sister-in-law enjoying life, 
gave her attention to Garvington’s affairs, and found 
them in a woeful mess. It really did appear as if she 
would have to save the Lambert family from ever- 
lasting disgrace, and from being entirely submerged, 
by keeping hold of her millions. But she did not 
lose heart, and worked on bravely in the hope that 


RED MONEY 


153 


an adjustment would save a few thousand a year for 
Freddy, without touching any of Pine’s money. If 
she could manage to secure him a sufficient income to 
keep up the title, and to prevent the sale of The Manor 
in Hengishire, she then intended to surrender her 
husband’s wealth and retire to a country life with 
Noel as her husband. 

“He can paint and I can look after the cottage along 
with Mrs. Tribb,” she told Mrs. Belgrove, who called 
to see her one day, more painted and dyed and padded 
and tastefully dressed than ever. “We can keep fowls 
and things, you know,” she added vaguely. 

“Quite an idyl,” tittered the visitor, and then went 
away to tell her friends that Lady Agnes must have 
been in love with her cousin all the time. And as 
the contents of the will were now generally known, 
every one agreed that the woman was a fool to give 
up wealth for a dull existence in the woods. “All the 
same it’s very sweet,” sighed Mrs. Belgrove, having 
made as much mischief as she possibly could. “I 
should like it myself if I could only dress as a Watteau 
shepherdess, you know, and carry a lamb with a blue 
ribbon round its dear neck.” 

Of course, Lady Agnes heard nothing of this ill- 
natured chatter, since she did not go into society dur- 
ing her period of mourning, and received only a few 
of her most intimate friends. Moreover, besides at- 
tending to Garvington’s affairs, it was necessary that 
she should have frequent consultations with Mr. Jar- 
win in his stuffy Chancery Lane office, relative to 
the large fortune left by her late husband. There, on 
three occasions she met Silver, the ex-secretary, when 
he came to explain various matters to the solicitor. 
With the consent of Lady Agnes, the man had been 
discharged, when Jarvin took over the management 
of the millions, but having a thorough knowledge of 


154 


RED MONEY 


Pine’s financial dealings, it was necessary that he 
should be questioned every now and then. 

Silver was rather sulky over his abrupt dismissal, 
but cunningly concealed his real feelings when in the 
presence of the widow, since she was too opulent a 
person to offend. It was Silver who suggested that 
a reward should be offered for the detection of Pine’s 
assassin. Lady Agnes approved of the idea, and in- 
deed was somewhat shocked that she had not thought 
of taking this course herself. Therefore, within seven 
days every police office in the United Kingdom was 
placarded with bills, stating that the sum of one thou- 
sand pounds would be given to the person or persons 
who should denounce the culprit. The amount offered 
caused quite a flutter of excitement, and public inter- 
est in the case was revived for nearly a fortnight. At 
the conclusion of that period, as nothing fresh was 
discovered, people ceased to discuss the matter. It 
seemed as though the reward, large as it was, would 
never be claimed. 

But having regard to the fact that Silver was inter- 
esting himself in the endeavor to avenge his patron’s 
death, Lady Agnes was not at all surprised to receive 
a visit from him one foggy November afternoon. She 
certainly did not care much for the little man, but feel- 
ing dull and somewhat lonely, she quite welcomed his 
visit. Lady Garvington had gone with her ascetic 
admirer to a lecture on “Souls and Sorrows!” there- 
fore Agnes had a spare hour for the ex-secretary. He 
was shown into her own particular private sitting- 
room, and she welcomed him with studied politeness, 
for try as she might it was impossible for her to 
overcome her mistrust. 

“Good-day, Mr. Silver,” she said, when he bowed 
before her. “This is an unexpected visit. Won’t you 
be seated?” 


RED MONEY 


1 55 


Silver accepted her offer of a chair with an air of 
demure shyness, and sitting on its edge stared at her 
rather hard. He looked neat and dapper in his Bond 
Street kit, and for a man who had started life as a 
Whitechapel toymaker, his manners were inoffensive. 
While Pine’s secretary he had contrived to pick up 
hints in the way of social behavior, and undoubtedly 
he was clever, since he so readily adapted himself to 
his surroundings. He was not a gentleman, but he 
looked like a gentleman, and therein lay a subtle dif- 
ference, as Lady Agnes decided. She unconsciously 
in her manner, affable as it was, suggested the gulf 
between them, and Silver, quickly contacting the at- 
mosphere, did not love her any the more for the hint. 

Nevertheless, he admired her statuesque beauty, the 
fairness of which was accentuated by her sombre 
dress. Blinking like a well-fed cat, Silver stared at 
his hostess, and she looked questioningly at him. 
With his foxy face, his reddish hair, and suave man- 
ners, too careful to be natural, he more than ever 
impressed her with the idea that he was a dangerous 
man. Yet she could not see in what way he could 
reveal his malignant disposition. 

“What do you wish to see me about, Mr. Silver?” 
she asked kindly, but did mot — as he swiftly noticed — 
offer him a cup of tea, although it was close upon five 
o’clock. 

“I have come to place my services at your disposal,” 
he said in a low voice. 

“Really, I am not aware that I need them,” replied 
Lady Agnes coldly, and not at all anxious to accept 
the offer. 

“I think,” said Silver dryly, and clearing his throat, 
“that when you hear what I have to say you will be 
glad that I have come.” 


156 


RED MONEY 


“Indeed! Will you be good enough to speak 
plainer ?” 

She colored hotly when she asked the question, as 
it struck her suddenly that perhaps this plotter knew 
of Garvington’s slip regarding the check. But as that 
had been burnt by Pine at the time of her marriage, 
she reflected that even if Silver knew about it, he 
could do nothing. Unless, and it was this thought 
that made her turn red, Garvington had again risked 
contact with the criminal courts. The idea was not 
a pleasant one, but being a brave woman, she faced 
the possibility boldly. 

“Well?” she asked calmly, as he did not reply im- 
mediately. “What have you to say?” 

“It’s about Pine’s death,” said Silver bluntly. 

“Sir Hubert, if you please.” 

“And why, Lady Agnes?” Silver raised his faint 
eyebrows. “We were more like brothers than mas- 
ter and servant. And remember that it was by the 
penny toys that I invented your husband first made 
money.” 

“In talking to me, I prefer that you should call my 
late husband Sir Hubert,” insisted the widow haugh- 
tily. “What have you discovered relative to his 
death ?” 

Silver did not answer the question directly. “Sir 
Hubert, since you will have it so, Lady Agnes, was 
a gypsy,” he remarked carelessly. 

“That was made plain at the inquest, Mr. Silver.” 

“Quite so, Lady Agnes, but there were other things 
not made plain on that occasion. It was not discov- 
ered who shot him.” 

“You tell me nothing new. I presume you have 
come to explain that you have discovered a clew to 
the truth?” 


RED MONEY 


157 


Silver raised his pale face steadily. “Would you 
be glad if I had?” 

“Certainly! Can you doubt it?” 

The man shirked a reply to this question also. “Sir 
Hubert did not treat me over well,” he observed irrele- 
vantly. 

“I fear that has nothing to do with me, Mr. Silver.” 

“And I was dimissed from my post,” he went on 
imperturbably. 

“On Mr. Jarwin’s advice,” she informed him quickly. 
“There was no need for you to be retained. But I 
believe that you were given a year’s salary in lieu 
of notice.” 

“That is so,” he admitted. “I am obliged to you and 
to Mr. Jarwin for the money, although it is not a very 
large sum. Considering what I did for Sir Hubert, 
and how he built up his fortune out of my brains, I 
think that I have been treated shabbily.” 

Lady Agnes rose, and moved towards the fireplace 
to touch the ivory button of the electric bell. “On 
that point I refer you to Mr. Jarwin,” she said coldly. 
“This interview has lasted long enough and can lead 
to nothing.” 

“It may lead to something unpleasant unless you 
listen to me,” said Silver acidly. “I advise you not 
to have me turned out, Lady Agnes.” 

“What do you mean?” She dropped the hand she 
had extended to ring the bell, and faced the smooth- 
faced creature suddenly. “I don’t know what you 
are talking about.” 

“If you will sit down, Lady Agnes, I can explain.” 

“I can receive your explanation standing,” said the 
widow, frowning. “Be brief, please.” 

“Very well. To put the matter in a nutshell, I want 
five thousand pounds.” 

“Five thousand pounds !” she echoed, aghast. 


158 


BED MONEY 


“On account,” said Silver blandly. “On account, 
Lady Agnes.” 

“And for what reason?” 

“Sir Hubert was a gypsy,” he said again, and with 
a significant look. 

“Well?” 

“He stopped at the camp near Abbot’s Wood.” 

“Well?” 

“There is a gypsy girl there called Chaldea.” 

“Chaldea! Chaldea!” muttered the widow, passing 
her hand across her brow. “I have heard that name. 
Oh, yes. Miss Greeby mentioned it to me as the 
name of a girl who was sitting as Mr. Lambert’s 
model.” 

“Yes,” assented Silver, grinning. “She is a very 
beautiful girl.” 

The color rushed again to the woman’s cheeks, but 
she controlled her emotions with an effort. “So Miss 
Greeby told me!” She knew that the man was hint- 
ing that Lambert admired the girl in question, but 
her pride prevented her admitting the knowledge. 
“Chaldea is being painted as Esmeralda to the Quasi- 
modo of her lover, a Servian gypsy called Kara, as I 
have been informed, Mr. Silver. But what has all 
this to do with me?” 

“Don’t be in a hurry, Lady Agnes. It will take 
time to explain.” 

“How dare you take this tone with me ?” demanded 
the widow, clenching her hands. “Leave the room, 
sir, or I shall have you turned out.” 

“Oh, I shall leave since you wish it,” replied Silver, 
rising slowly and smoothing his silk hat with his 
sleeve. “But of course I shall try and earn the reward 
you offered, by taking the letter to the police.” 

Agnes was so surprised that she closed again the 


RED MONEY 


159 


door she had opened for her visitor’s exit. “What 
letter ?” 

“That one which was written to inveigle Sir Hubert 
to The Manor on the night he was murdered,” replied 
Silver slowly, and suddenly raising his eyes he looked 
at her straightly. 

“I don’t understand,” she said in a puzzled way. 
“I have never heard that such a letter was in exist- 
ence. Where is it?” 

“Chaldea has it, and will not give it up unless she 
receives five thousand pounds,” answered the man 
glibly. “Give it to me and it passes into your posses- 
sion, Lady Agnes.” 

“Give you what?” 

“Five thousand pounds — on account.” 

“On account of blackmail. How dare you make 
such a proposition to me?” 

“You know,” said Silver pointedly. 

“I know nothing. It is the first time I have heard 
of any letter. Who wrote it, may I ask?” 

“You know,” said Silver again. 

Lady Agnes was so insulted by his triumphant look 
that she could have struck his grinning face. How- 
ever, she had too strong a nature to lower herself in 
this way, and pointed to a chair. “Let me ask you 
a few questions, Mr. Silver,” she said imperiously. 

“Oh, I am quite ready to answer whatever you 
choose to ask,” he retorted, taking his seat again and 
secretly surprised at her self-control. 

“You say that Chaldea holds a letter which in- 
veigled my husband to his death?” demanded Lady 
Agnes coolly. 

“Yes. And she wants five thousand pounds for it.” 

“Why doesn’t she give it to the police?” 

“One thousand pounds is not enough for the letter. 


160 


RED MONEY 


It is worth more — to some people,” and Silver raised 
his pale eyes again. 

“To me, I presume you mean;” then when he 
bowed, she continued her examination. “The five 
thousand pounds you intimate is on account, yet you 
say that Chaldea will deliver the letter for that sum.” 

“To me,” rejoined the ex-secretary impudently. 
“And when it is in my possession, I can give it to 
you for twenty thousand pounds.” 

Lady Agnes laughed in his face. “I am too good 
a business woman to make such a bargain,” she said 
with a shrug. 

“Well, you know best,” replied Silver, imitating 
her shrug. 

“I know nothing; I am quite in the dark as to the 
reason for your blackmailing, Mr. Silver.” 

“That is a nasty word, Lady Agnes.” 

“It is the only word which seems to suit the situa- 
taion. Why should I give twenty-five thousand 
pounds for this letter?” 

“Its production will place the police on the track of 
the assassin.” 

“And is not that what I desire? Why did I offer 
a reward of one thousand pounds if I did not hope 
that the wretch who murdered my husband should be 
brought to justice?” 

Silver exhibited unfeigned surprise. “You wish 
that?” 

“Certainly I do. Where was this letter discovered ?” 

“Chaldea went to the tent of your husband in the 
camp and found it in the pocket of his coat. He 
apparently left it behind by mistake when he went to 
watch.” 

“Watch?” 

“Yes ! The letter stated that you intended to elope 
that night with Mr. Lambert, and would leave the 


RED MONEY 161 


house by the blue door. Sir Hubert went to watch 
and prevent the elopement. In that way he came by 
his death, since Lord Garvington threatened to shoot 
a possible burglar. Of course, Sir Hubert, when the 
blue door was opened by Lord Garvington, who had 
heard the footsteps of the supposed burglar, threw 
himself forward, thinking you were coming out to 
meet Mr. Lambert. Sir Hubert was first shot in the 
arm by Lord Garvington, who really believed for 
the moment that he had to do with a robber. But 
the second shot,” ended Silver with emphasis, “was 
fired by a person concealed in the shrubbery, who 
knew that Sir Hubert would walk into the trap laid by 
the letter.” 

During this amazing recital, Lady Agnes, with her 
eyes on the man’s face, and her hands clasped in sheer 
surprise, had sat down on a near couch. She could 
scarcely believe her ears. “Is this true?” she asked 
in a faltering voice. 

Silver shrugged his shoulders again. “The letter 
held by Chaldea certainly set the snare in which Sir 
Hubert was caught. Unless the person in the shrub- 
bery knew about the letter, the person would scarcely 
have been concealed there with a revolver. I know 
about the letter for certain, since Chaldea showed it 
to me, when I went to ask questions about the murder 
in the hope of gaining the reward. The rest of my 
story is theoretical.” 

“Who was the person who fired the shot?” asked 
Lady Agnes abruptly. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Who wrote the letter which set the snare?” 

Silver shuffled. “Chaldea loves Mr. Lambert,” he 
said hesitating. 

“Go on,” ordered the widow coldly and retaining 
her self-control. 


162 


RED MONEY 


“She is jealous of you, Lady Agnes, because ” 

“There is no reason to explain/’ interrupted the 
listener between her teeth. 

“Well, then, Chaldea hating you, says that you 
wrote the letter.” 

“Oh, indeed.” Lady Agnes replied calmly enough, 
although her conflicting emotions almost suffocated 
her. “Then I take it that this gypsy declares me to 
be a murderess.” 

“Oh, I shouldn’t say that exactly.” 

“I do say it,” cried Lady Agnes, rising fiercely. “If 
I wrote the letter, and set the snare, I must necessarily 
know that some one was hiding in the shrubbery to 
shoot my husband. It is an abominable lie from start 
to finish.” 

“I am glad to hear you say so. But the letter?” 

“The police will deal with that.” 

“The police? You will let Chaldea give the letter 
to the police?” 

“I am innocent and have no fear of the police. 
Your attempt to blackmail me has failed, Mr. Silver.” 

“Be wise and take time for reflection,” he urged, 
walking towards the door, “for I have seen this letter, 
and it is in your handwriting.” 

“I never wrote such a letter.” 

“Then who did — in your handwriting?” 

“Perhaps you did yourself, Mr. Silver, since you 
are trying to blackmail me in this bareface way.” 

Silver snarled and gave her an ugly look. “I did 
no such thing,” he retorted vehemently, and, as it 
seemed, honestly enough. “I had every reason to wish 
that Sir Hubert should live, since my income and my 
position depended upon his existence. But you ” 

“What about me? ’’demanded Lady Agnes, taking 
so sudden a step forward that the little man retreated 
nearer the door. 


RED MONEY 163 


“People say ” 

“I know what people say and what you are about 
to repeat,” she said in a stifled voice. “You can tell 
the girl to take that forged letter to the police. I am 
quite able to face any inquiry. ,, 

“Is Mr. Lambert also able?” 

“Mr. Lambert ?” Agnes felt as though she would 
choke. 

“He was at his cottage on that night.” 

“I deny that ; he went to London.” 

“Chaldea can prove that he was at his cottage, 
and ” 

“You had better go,” said Lady Agnes, turning 
white and looking dangerous. “Go, before you say 
what you may be sorry for. I shall tell Mr. Lambert 
the story you have told me, and let him deal with the 
matter.” 

Silver threw off the mask, as he was enraged she 
should so boldly withstand his demands. “I give you 
one week,” he said harshly. “And, if you do not pay 
me twenty-five thousand pounds, that letter goes to 
the inspector at Wanbury.” 

“It can go now,” she declared dauntlessly. 

“In that case you and Mr. Lambert will be arrested 
at once.” 

Agnes gripped the man’s arm as he was about to 
step through the door. “I take your week of grace,” 
she said with a sudden impulse of wisdom. 

“I thought you would,” retorted Silver insultingly. 
“But remember I must get the money at the end of 
seven days. It’s twenty-five thousand pounds for me, 
or disgrace to you,” and with an abrupt nod he dis- 
appeared sneering. 

“Twenty-five thousand pounds or disgrace,” whis- 
pered Agnes to herself. 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE CONSPIRACY. 

It was lucky that Lambert did not know of the 
ordeal to which Agnes had to submit, unaided, since 
he was having a most unhappy time himself. In a 
sketching expedition he had caught a chill, which had 
developed once more a malarial fever, contracted in 
the Congo marshes some years previously. Whenever 
his constitution weakened, this ague fit would reap- 
pear, and for days, sometimes weeks, he would shiver 
with cold, and alternately burn with fever. As the 
autumn mists were hanging round the leafless Ab- 
bot’s Wood, it was injudicious of him to sit in the 
open, however warmly clothed, seeing that he was 
predisposed to disease. But his desire for the society 
of the woman he loved, and the hopelessness of the 
outlook, rendered him reckless, and he was more often 
out of doors than in. The result was that when Agnes 
came down to relate the interview with Silver, she 
found him in his sitting-room swathed in blankets, 
and reclining in an arm-chair placed as closely to a 
large wood fire as was possible. He was very ill in- 
deed, poor man, and she uttered an exclamation when 
she saw his wan cheeks and hollow eyes. Lambert 
was now as weak as he had been strong, and with the 
mothering instinct of a woman, she rushed forward 
to kneel beside his chair. 

‘‘My dear, my dear, why did you not send for me?” 
she wailed, keeping back her tears with an effort. 

164 


RED MONEY 


165 


“Oh, I’m all right, Agnes,” he answered cheerfully, 
and fondly clasping her hand. “Mrs. Tribb is nursing 
me capitally.” 

“I’m doing my best,” said the rosy-faced little 
housekeeper, who stood at the door with her podgy 
hands primly folded over her apron. “Plenty of bed 
and food is what I give Master Noel; but bless you, 
my lady, he won’t stay between the blankets, being 
always a worrit from a boy.” 

“It seems to me that I am very much between the 
blankets now,” murmured Lambert in a tired voice, 
and with a glance at his swathed limbs. “Go away, 
Mrs. Tribb, and get Lady Agnes something to eat.” 

“I only want a cup of tea,” said Agnes, looking 
anxiously into her lover’s bluish-tinted face. “I’m 
not hungry.” 

Mrs. Tribb took a long look at the visitor and 
pursed up her lips, as she shook her head. “Hungry 
you mayn’t be, my lady, but food you must have, and 
that of the most nourishing and delicate. You look 
almost as much a corpse as Master Noel there.” 

“Yes, Agnes, you do seem to be ill,” said Lambert 
with a startled glance at her deadly white face, and 
at the dark circles under her eyes. “What is the 
matter, dear?” 

“Nothing! Nothing! Don’t worry.” 

Mrs. Tribb still continued to shake her head, and, to 
vary the movement, nodded like a Chinese mandarin. 
“You ain’t looked after proper, my lady, for all your 
fine London servants, who ain’t to be trusted, nohow, 
having neither hands to do nor hearts to feel for them 
as wants comforts and attentions. I remember you, 
my lady, a blooming young rose of a gal, and now 
sheets ain’t nothing to your complexion. But rose 
you shall be again, my lady, if wine and food can do 
what they’re meant to do. Tea you shan’t have, no- 


166 


RED MONEY 


how, but a glass or two of burgundy, and a plate of 
patty-foo-grass sandwiches, and later a bowl of strong 
beef tea with port wine to strengthen the same,” and 
Mrs. Tribb, with a determined look on her face, went 
away to prepare these delicacies. 

“My dear! my dear!” murmured Agnes again 

when the door closed. “You should have sent for 

- ” 
me. 

“Nonsense,” answered Lambert, smoothing her 
hair. “I’m not a child to cry out at the least scratch. 
It’s only an attack of my old malarial fever, and I 
shall be all right in a few days.” 

“Not a few of these days,” said Agnes, looking out 
of the window at the gaunt, dripping trees and gray 
sky and melancholy monoliths. “You ought to come 
to London and see the doctor.” 

“Had I come, I should have had to pay you a visit, 
and I thought that you did not wish me to, until things 
were adjusted.” 

Agnes drew back, and, kneeling before the fire, 
spread out her hands to the blaze. “Will they ever 
be adjusted?” she asked herself despairingly, but did 
not say so aloud, as she was unwilling to worry the 
sick man. “Well, I only came down to The Manor 
for a few days,” she said aloud, and in a most cheer- 
ful manner. “Jane wants to get the house in order 
for Garvington, who returns from Paris in a week.” 

“Agnes ! Agnes !” Lambert shook his head. “You 
are not telling me the truth. I know you too well, 
my dear.” 

“I really am staying with Jane at The Manor,” she 
persisted. 

“Oh, I believe that ; but you are in trouble and came 
down to consult me.” 

“Yes,” she admitted faintly. **1 am in great trouble. 


RED MONEY 


167 


But I don’t wish to worry you while you are in this 
state.” 

“You will worry me a great deal more by keeping 
silence/’ said Lambert, sitting up in his chair and 
drawing the blankets more closely round him. “Do 

not trouble about me. I’m all right. But you ” 

he looked at her keenly and with a dismayed expres- 
sion. “The trouble must be very great,” he remarked. 

“It may become so, Noel. It has to do with — oh, 
here is Mrs. Tribb!” and she broke off hurriedly, as 
the housekeeper appeared with a tray. 

“Now, my lady, just you sit in that arm-chair oppo- 
site to Master Noel, and I’ll put the tray on this small 
stool beside you. Sandwiches and burgundy wine, my 
lady, and see that you eat and drink all you can. 
Walking over on this dripping day,” cried Mrs. Tribb, 
bustling about. “Giving yourself your death of cold, 
and you with carriages and horses, and them spitting 
cats of motive things. You’re as bad as Master Noel, 
my lady. As for him, God bless him evermore, 

he’s ” Mrs. Tribb raised her hands to show that 

words failed her, and once more vanished through the 
door to get ready the beef tea. 

Agnes did not want to eat, but Lambert, who quite 
agreed with the kind-hearted practical housekeeper, 
insisted that she should do so. To please him she took 
two sandwiches, and a glass of the strong red wine, 
which brought color back to her cheeks in some de- 
gree. When she finished, and had drawn her chair 
closer to the blaze, he smiled. 

“We are just like Darby and Joan,” said Lambert, 
who looked much better for her presence. “I am 
so glad you are here, Agnes. You are the very best 
medicine I can have to make me well.” 

“The idea of comparing me to anything so nasty 


168 


RED MONEY 


as medicine,” laughed Agnes with an attempt at 
gayety. “But indeed, Noel, I wish my visit was a 
pleasant one. But it is not, whatever you may say; I 
am in great trouble.” 

“From what — with what — in what?” stuttered Lam- 
bert, so confusedly and anxiously that she hesitated 
to tell him. 

“Are you well enough to hear?” 

“Of course I am,” he answered fretfully, for the 
suspense began to tell on his nerves. “I would rather 
know the worst and face the worst than be left to 
worry over these hints. Has the trouble to do with 
the murder?” 

“Yes. And with Mr. Silver.” 

“Pine’s secretary? I thought you had got rid of 
him ?” 

“Oh, yes. Mr. Jarwin said that he was not needed, 
so I paid him a year’s wages instead of giving him 
notice, and let him go. But I have met him once or 
twice at the lawyers, as he has been telling Mr. Jarwin 
about poor Hubert’s investments. And yesterday 
afternoon he came to see me.” 

“What about?” 

Agnes came to the point at once, seeing that it 
would be better to do so, and put an end to Lambert’s 
suspense. “About a letter supposed to have been 
written by me, as a means of luring Hubert to The 
Manor to be murdered.” 

Lambert’s sallow and pinched face grew a deep red. 
“Is the man mad ?” 

“He’s sane enough to ask twenty-five thousand 
pounds for the letter,” she said in a dry tone. 
“There’s not much madness about that request.” 

“Twenty-five thousand pounds!” gasped Lambert, 
gripping the arms of his chair and attempting to rise. 

“Yes. Don’t get up, Noel, you are too weak.” 


RED MONEY 


169 


Agnes pressed him back into the seat. “Twenty thou- 
sand for himself and five thousand for Chaldea.” 

“Chaldea ! Chaldea ! What has she got to do with 
the matter ?” 

“She holds the letter,” said Agnes with a side- 
glance. “And being jealous of me, she intends to 
make me suffer, unless I buy her silence and the let- 
ter. Otherwise, according to Mr. Silver, she will 
show it to the police. I have seven days, more or less, 
in which to make up my mind. Either I must be 
blackmailed, or I must face the accusation.” 

Lambert heard only one word that struck him in 
this speech. “Why is Chaldea jealous of you?” he 
demanded angrily. 

“I think you can best answer that question, Noel.” 

“I certainly can, and answer it honestly, too. Who 
told you about Chaldea?” 

“Mr. Silver, for one, as I have just confessed. 
Clara Greeby for another. She said that the girl was 
sitting to you for some picture.” 

“Esmeralda and Quasimodo,” replied the artist 
quickly. “You will find what I have done of the pic- 
ture in the next room. But this confounded girl chose 
to fall in love with me, and since then I have declined 
to see her. I need hardly tell you, Agnes, that I gave 
her no encouragement.” 

“No, dear. I never for one moment supposed that 
you would.” 

“All the same, and in spite of my very plain speak- 
ing, she continues to haunt me, Agnes. I have 
avoided her on every occasion, but she comes daily to 
see Mrs. Tribb, and ask questions about my illness.” 

“Then, if she comes this afternoon, you must get 
that letter from her,” was the reply. “I wish to see 
it.” 

“Silver declares that you wrote it?” 


170 


BED MONEY 


“He does. Chaldea showed it to him.” 

“It is in your handwriting?” 

“So Mr. Silver declares.” 

Lambert rubbed the bristles of his three days’ beard, 
and wriggled uncomfortably in his seat. “I can’t 
gather much from these hints,” he said with the fret- 
ful impatience of an invalid. “Give me a detailed 
account of this scoundrel’s interview with you, and 
report his exact words if you can remember them, 
Agnes.” 

“I remember them very well. A woman does not 
forget such insults easily.” 

“Damn the beast !” muttered Lambert savagely. 
“Go on, dear.” 

Agnes patted his hand to soothe him, and forthwith 
related all that had passed between her and the ex- 
secretary. Lambert frowned once or twice during the 
recital, and bit his lip with anger. Weak as he was, 
he longed for Silver to be within kicking distance, 
and it would have fared badly with the foxy little 
man had he been in the room at the moment. When 
Agnes ended, her lover reflected for a few minutes. 
“It’s a conspiracy,” he declared. 

“A conspiracy, Noel?” 

“Yes. Chaldea hates you because the fool has 
chosen to fall in love with me. The discovery of this 
letter has placed a weapon in her hand to do you an 
injury, and for the sake of money Silver is assisting 
her. I will do Chaldea the justice to say that I don’t 
believe she asks a single penny for the letter. To spite 
you she would go at once to the police. But Silver, 
seeing that there is money in the business, has pre- 
vented her doing so. As to this letter ” He 

stopped and rubbed his chin again vexedly. 

“It must be a forgery.” 

“Without doubt, but not of your handwriting, I 


RED MONEY 


171 


fancy, in spite of what this daring blackguard says. 
He informed you that the letter stated how you in- 
tended to elope with me on that night, and would 
leave The Manor by the blue door. Also, on the 
face of it, it would appear that you had written the 
letter to your husband, since otherwise it would not 
have been in his possession. You would not have 
given him such a hint had an elopement really been 
arranged.” 

Agnes frowned. “There was no chance of an 
elopement being arranged,” she observed rather 
coldly. 

“Of course not. You and I know as much, but 
I am looking at the matter from the point of view of 
the person who wrote the letter. It can’t be your 
forged handwriting, for Pine would never have be- 
lieved that you would put him on the track as it were. 
No, Agnes. Depend upon it, the letter was a warn- 
ing sent by some sympathetic friend, and is probably 
an anonymous one.” 

Agnes nodded meditatively. “You may be right, 
Noel. But who wrote to Hubert?” 

“We must see the letter and find out.” 

“But if it is my forged handwriting?” 

“I don’t believe it is,” said Lambert decisively. “No 
conspirator would be so foolish as to conduct his plot 
in such a way. However, Chaldea has the letter, 
according to Silver, and we must make her give it up. 
She is sure to be here soon, as she always comes 
bothering Mrs. Tribb in the afternoon about my 
health. Just ring that hand-bell, Agnes.” 

“Do you think Chaldea wrote the letter?” she 
asked, having obeyed him. 

“No. She has not the education to forge, or even 
to write decently.” 

“Perhaps Mr. Silver — but no. I taxed him with 


172 BED MONEY 


setting the trap, and he declared that Hubert was 
more benefit to him alive than dead, which is perfectly 
true. Here is Mrs. Tribb, Noel.” 

Lambert turned his head. “Has that gypsy been 
here to-day?” he asked sharply. 

“Not yet, Master Noel, but there’s no saying when 
she may come, for she’s always hanging round the 
house. I’d tar and feather her and slap and pinch 
her if I had my way, say what you like, my lady. I’ve 
no patience with gals of that free-and-easy, light- 
headed, butter-wont-melt-in-your-mouth kind.” 

“If she comes to-day, show her in here,” said Lam- 
bert, paying little attention to Mrs. Tribb’s somewhat 
German speech of mouth-filling words. 

The housekeeper’s black eyes twinkled, and she 
opened her lips, then she shut them again, and looking 
at Lady Agnes in a questioning way, trotted out of 
the room. It was plain that Mrs. Tribb knew of 
Chaldea’s admiration for her master, and could not 
understand why he wished her to enter the house 
when Lady Agnes was present. She did not think it 
a wise thing to apply fire to gunpowder, which, in 
her opinion, was what Lambert was doing. 

There ensued silence for a few moments. Then 
Agnes, staring into the fire, remarked in a musing 
manner, “I wonder who did shoot Hubert. Mr. Silver 
would not have done so, as it was to his interest to 
keep him alive. Do you think that to hurt me, Noel, 
Chaldea might have ” 

“No! No! No! It was to her interest also that 
Pine should live, since she knew that I could not 
marry you while he was alive.” 

Agnes nodded, understanding him so well that she 
did not need to ask for a detailed explanation. “It 
could not have been any of those staying at The 
Manor,” she said doubtfully, “since every one was 


RED MONEY 


173 


indoors and in bed. Garvington, of course, only 
broke poor Hubert’s arm under a misapprehension. 
Who could have been the person in the shrubbery?” 

“Silver hints that I am the individual,” said Lam- 
bert grimly. 

“Yes, he does,” assented Lady Agnes quickly. “I 
declared that you were in London, but he said that 
you returned on that night to this place.” 

“I did, worse luck. I went to town, thinking it 
best to be away while Pine was in the neighborhood, 
and ” 

“You knew that Hubert was a gypsy and at the 
camp?” interrupted Agnes in a nervous manner, for 
the information startled her. 

“Yes! Chaldea told me so, when she was trying 
to make me fall in love with her. I did not tell you, 
as I thought that you might be vexed, although I dare 
say I should have done so later. However, I went to 
town in order to prevent trouble, and only returned 
for that single night. I went back to town next morn- 
ing very early, and did not hear about the murder 
until I saw a paragraph in the evening papers. 
Afterwards I came down to the funeral because Gar- 
vington asked me to, and I thought that you would 
like it.” 

“Why did you come back on that particular night?” 

“My dear Agnes, I had no idea that Hubert would 
be murdered on that especial night, so did not choose 
it particularly. I returned because I had left behind 
a parcel of your letters to me when we were engaged. 
I fancied that Chaldea might put Hubert up to search- 
ing the cottage while I was away, and if he had found 
those letters he would have been more jealous than 
ever, as you can easily understand.” 
r “No, I can’t understand,” flashed out Agnes 
sharply. “Hubert knew that we loved one another, 


174 


RED MONEY 


and that I broke the engagement to save the family. 
I told him that I could not give him the affection he 
desired, and he was content to marry me on those 
terms. The discovery of letters written before I be- 
came his wife would not have caused trouble, since I 
was always loyal to him. There was no need for you 
to return, and your presence here on that night lends 
color to Mr. Silver’s accusation.” 

“But you don’t believe ” 

“Certainly I don’t. All the same it is awkward for 
both of us.” 

“I think it was made purposely awkward, Agnes. 
Whosoever murdered Hubert must have known of my 
return, and laid the trap on that night, so that I 
might be implicated.” 

“But who set the trap?” 

“The person who wrote that letter.” 

“And who wrote the letter?” 

“That is what we have to find out from Chaldea !” 

At that moment, as if he had summoned her, the 
gypsy suddenly flung open the door and walked in 
with a sulky expression on her dark face. At first 
she had been delighted to hear that Lambert wanted 
to see her, but when informed by Mrs. Tribb that 
Lady Agnes was with the young man, she had lost her 
temper. However, the chance of seeing Lambert was 
too tempting to forego, so she marched in defiantly, 
ready to fight with her rival if there was an oppor- 
tunity of doing so. But the Gentile lady declined the 
combat, and took no more notice of the jealous gypsy 
than was absolutely necessary. On her side Chaldea 
ostentatiously addressed her conversation to Lambert. 

“How are you, rye?” she asked, stopping with 
effort in the middle of the room, for her impulse was 
to rush forward and gather him to her heaving bosom. 
“Have you taken drows, my precious lord?” 


175 


EED MONEY 


“What do you mean by drows, Chaldea?” 

“Poison, no less. You look drabbed, for sure.” 

“Drabbed?” 

“Poisoned. But I waste the kalo jib on you, my 
Gorgious. God bless you for a sick one, say I, and 
that’s a bad dukkerin, the which in gentle Romany 
means fortune, my Gentile swell.” 

“Drop talking such nonsense,” said Lambert 
sharply, and annoyed to see how the girl ignored the 
presence of Lady Agnes. “I have a few questions 
to ask you about a certain letter.” 

“Kushto bak to the rye, who showed it to the lady,” 
said Chaldea, tossing her head so that the golden coins 
jingled. 

“He did not show it to me, girl,” remarked Lady 
Agnes coldly. 

“Hai ! It seems that the rumy of Hearne can lie.” 

“I shall put you out of the house if you speak in 
that way,” said Lambert sternly. “Silver went to 
Lady Agnes and tried to blackmail her.” 

“He’s a boro pappin, and that’s Romany for a large 
goose, my Gorgious rye, for I asked no gold.” 

“You told him to ask five thousand pounds.” 

“May I die in a ditch if I did!” cried Chaldea 
vehemently. “Touch the gold of the raclan I would 
not, though I wanted bread. The tiny rye took the 
letter to give to the prastramengro, and that’s a police- 
man, my gentleman, so that there might be trouble. 
But I wished no gold from her. Romany speaking, I 
should like to poison her. I love you, and ” 

“Have done with this nonsense, Chaldea. Talk like 
that and out you go. I can see from what you admit, 
that you have been making mischief.” 

“That’s as true as my father,” laughed the gypsy 
viciously. “And glad am I to say the word, my boro 


176 


RED MONEY 


rye. And why should the raclan go free-footed when 
she drew her rom to be slaughtered like a pig?” 

“I did nothing of the sort/’ cried Agnes, with an 
angry look. 

“Duvel, it is true.” Chaldea still addressed Lam- 
bert, and took no notice of Agnes. “I swear it on 
your Bible-book. I found the letter in my brother’s 
tent, the day after he perished. Hearne, for Hearne 
he was, and a gentle Romany also, read the letter, 
saying that the raclan, his own romi, was running 
away with you.” 

“Who wrote the letter?” demanded Agnes indig- 
nantly. 

This time Chaldea answered her fiercely. “You 
did, my Gorgious rani, and lie as you may, it’s the 
truth I tell.” 

Ill as he was, Lambert could not endure seeing the 
girl insult Agnes. With unexpected strength he rose 
from his chair and took her by the shoulders to turn 
her out of the room. Chaldea laughed wildly, but did 
not resist. It was Agnes who intervened. “Let her 
stay until we learn the meaning of these things, Noel,” 
she said rapidly in French. 

“She insults you,” he replied, in the same tongue, 
but released the girl. 

“Never mind; never mind.” Agnes turned to 
Chaldea and reverted to English. “Girl, you are play- 
ing a dangerous game. I wrote no letter to the man 
you call Llearne, and who was my husband — Sir Hu- 
bert Pine.” 

Chaldea laughed contemptuously. “Avali, that is 
true. The letter was written by you to my precious 
rye here, and Hearne’s dukkerin brought it his way.” 

“How did he get it?” 

“Those who know, know,” retorted Chaldea indif- 


RED MONEY 


177 


ferently. “Hearne’s breath was out of him before I 
could ask.” 

“Why do you say that I wrote the letter?” 

“The tiny rye swore by his God that you did.” 

“It is absolutely false!” 

“Oh, my mother, there are liars about,” jeered the 
gypsy sceptically. “Catch you blabbing your doings 
on the crook, my rani, Chore mandy ” 

“Speak English,” interrupted Agnes, who was quiv- 
ering with rage. 

“You can’t cheat me,” translated Chaldea sulkily. 
“You write my rye, here, the letter swearing to run 
world-wide with him, and let it fall into your rom’s 
hands, so as to fetch him to the big house. Then did 
you, my cunning gentleman,” she whirled round on 
the astounded Lambert viciously, “hide so quietly in 
the bushes to shoot. Hai ! it is so, and I love you for 
the boldness, my Gorgious one.” 

“It is absolutely false,” cried Lambert, echoing 
Agnes. 

“True ! true ! and twice times true. May I go crazy, 
Meg, if it isn’t. You wanted the raclan as your romi, 
and so plotted my brother’s death. But your sweet 
one will go before the Poknees, and with irons on her 
wrists, and a rope round her ” 

“You she-devil !” shouted Lambert in a frenzy of 
rage, and forgetting in his anger the presence of 
Agnes. 

“Words of honey under the moon,” mocked the girl, 
then suddenly became tender. “Let her go, rye, let 
her go. My love is all for you, and when we pad the 
hoof together, those who hate us shall take off the 
hat.” 

Lambert sat glaring at her furiously, and Agnes 
glided between him and the girl, fearful lest he should 


178 


BED MONEY 


spring up and insult her. But she addressed her 
words to Chaldea. “Why do you think I got Mr. 
Lambert to kill my husband ?” she asked, wincing at 
having to put the question, but seeing that it was 
extremely necessary to learn all she could from the 
gypsy. 

The other woman drew her shawl closely round 
her fine form and snapped her fingers contemptuously. 
“It needs no chovihani to tell. Hearne the Romany 
was poor, Pine the Gentile chinked gold in his pockets. 
Says you to yourself, ‘He I love isn’t him with 
money/ And says you, ‘If I don’t get my true rom, 
the beauty of the world will clasp him to her breast/ 
So you goes for to get Hearne out of the flesh, to 
wed the rye here on my brother’s rich possessions. 
Avali,” she nodded vigorously. “That is so, though 
‘No’ you says to me, for wisdom. Red money you 
have gained, my daring sister, for the blood of a 
Romany chal has changed the color. But I’m no ” 

How long she would have continued to rage at 
Lady Agnes it is impossible to say, for the invalid, 
with the artificial strength of furious anger, sprang 
from his chair to turn her out of the room. Chaldea 
dodged him in the alert way of a wild animal. 

“That’s no love-embrace, my rye,” she jibed, re- 
treating swiftly. “Later, later, when the moon rises, 
my angel,” and she slipped deftly through the door 
with a contemptuous laugh. Lambert would have 
followed, but that Agnes caught his arm, and with 
tears in her eyes implored him to remain. 

“But what can we do in the face of such danger?” 
she asked him when he was quieter, and breaking 
down, she sobbed bitterly. 

“We must meet it boldly. Silver has the forged 
letter: he must be arrested.” 

“But the scandal, Noel. Dare we ” 


BED MONEY 


179 


“ Agnes, you are innocent: I am innocent. Inno- 
cence can dare all things.” 

Both sick, both troubled, both conscious of the dark 
clouds around them, they looked at one another in 
silence. Then Lambert repeated his words with con- 
viction, to reassure himself as much as to comfort 
her. 

“Innocence can dare all things,” said Lambett, 
positively. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A FRIEND IN NEED. 

It was natural that Lambert should talk of having 
Silver arrested, as in the first flush of indignation at 
his audacious attempt to levy blackmail, this appeared 
the most reasonable thing to do. But when Agnes 
went back to The Manor, and the sick man was left 
alone to struggle through a long and weary night, the 
reaction suggested a more cautious dealing with the 
matter. Silver was a venomous little reptile, and if 
brought before a magistrate would probably produce 
the letter which he offered for sale at so ridiculous a 
price. If this was made public, Agnes would find 
herself in an extremely unpleasant position. Certainly 
the letter was forged, but that would not be easy to 
prove. And even if it were proved and Agnes cleared 
her character, the necessary scandal connected with 
the publicity of such a defence would be both dis- 
tressing and painful. In wishing to silence Silver, 
and yet avoid the interference of the police, Lambert 
found himself on the horns of a dilemma. 

Having readjusted the situation in his own mind, 
Lambert next day wrote a lengthy letter to Agnes, 
setting forth his objections to drastic measures. He 
informed her — not quite truthfully — that he hoped 
to be on his feet in twenty-four hours, and then would 
personally attend to the matter, although he could 
not say as yet what he intended to do. But five out 
of the seven days of grace allowed by the blackmailer 
180 


RED MONEY 


181 


yet remained, and much could be done in that time. 
“Return to town and attend to your own and to your 
brother’s affairs as usual,” concluded the letter. “All 
matters connected with Silver can be left in my hands, 
and should he attempt to see you in the meantime, 
refer him to me.” The epistle ended with the intima- 
tion that Agnes was not to worry, as the writer would 
take the whole burden on his own shoulders. The 
widow felt more cheerful after this communication, 
and went back to her town house to act as her lover 
suggested. She had every belief in Lambert’s capa- 
bility to deal with the matter. 

The young man was more doubtful, for he could 
not see how he was to begin unravelling this tangled 
skein. The interview with Chaldea had proved futile, 
as she was plainly on the side of the enemy, and to 
apply to Silver for information as to his intentions 
would merely result in a repetition of what he had 
said to Lady Agnes. It only remained to lay the 
whole matter before Inspector Darby, and Lambert 
was half inclined to go to Wanbury for this purpose. 
He did not, however, undertake the journey, for two 
reasons. Firstly, he wished to avoid asking for offi- 
cial assistance until absolutely forced to do so; and 
secondly, he was too ill to leave the cottage. The 
worry he felt regarding Agnes’s perilous position told 
on an already weakened frame, and the invalid grew 
worse instead of better. 

Finally, Lambert decided to risk a journey to the 
camp, which was not so very far distant, and inter- 
view Mother Cockleshell. The old lady had no great 
love for Chaldea, who flouted her authority, and would 
not, therefore, be very kindly disposed towards the 
girl. The young man believed, in some vague way, 
that Chaldea had originated the conspiracy which had 
to do with the letter, and was carrying her underhand 


182 


RED MONEY 


plans to a conclusion with the aid of Silver. Mother 
Cockleshell, who was very shrewd, might have learned 
or guessed the girl’s rascality, and would assuredly 
thwart her aims if possible. Also the gypsy-queen 
would probably know a great deal about Pine in his 
character of Ishmael Hearne, since she had been ac- 
quainted with him intimately during the early part of 
his life. But, whatever she knew, or whatever she 
did not know, Lambert considered that it would be 
wise to enlist her on his side, as the mere fact that 
Chaldea was one of the opposite party would make 
her fight like a wild cat. And as the whole affair had 
to do with the gypsies, and as Gentilla Stanley was a 
gypsy, it was just as well to apply for her assistance. 
Nevertheless, Lambert was quite in the dark, as to 
what assistance could be rendered. 

In this way ^the young man made; his plans, only to 
be thwarted by the weakness of his body. He could 
crawl out of bed and sit before the fire, but in spite 
of all his will-power, he could not crawl as far as the 
camp. Baffled in this way, he decided to send a note 
asking Mother Cockleshell to call on him, although 
he knew that if Chaldea learned about the visit — • 
which she was almost certain to do — she would be 
placed on her guard. But this had to be risked, and 
Lambert, moreover, believed that the old woman was 
quite equal to dealing with the girl. However, Fate 
took the matter out of his hands, and before he could 
even write the invitation, a visitor arrived in the per- 
son of Miss Greeby, who suggested a way out of the 
difficulty, by offering her services. Matters came to 
a head within half an hour of her presenting herself 
in the sitting-room. 

Miss Greeby was quite her old breezy, masculine 
self, and her presence in the cottage was like a breath 
of moorland air blowing through the languid atmos- 


RED MONEY 


183 


phere of a hothouse. She was arrayed characteris- 
tically in a short-skirted, tailor-made gown of a 
brown hue and bound with brown leather, and wore 
in addition a man’s cap, dog-skin gloves, and heavy 
laced-up boots fit to tramp miry country roads. With 
her fresh complexion and red hair, and a large frame 
instinct with vitality, she looked aggressively healthy, 
and Lambert with his failing life felt quite a weakling 
beside this magnificent goddess. 

“Hallo, old fellow,” cried Miss Greeby in her best 
man-to-man style, “feeling chippy? Why, you do 
look a wreck, I must say. What’s up?” 

“The fever’s up and I’m down,” replied Lambert, 
who was glad to see her, if only to distract his pain- 
ful thoughts. “It’s only a touch of malaria, my dear 
Clara. I shall be all right in a few days.” 

“You’re hopeful, I must say, Lambert. What about 
a doctor?” 

“I don’t need one. Mrs. Tribb is* nursing me.” 

“Coddling you,” muttered Miss Greeby, planting 
herself manfully in an opposite chair and crossing her 
legs in a gentlemanly manner. “Fresh air and exer- 
cise, beefsteaks and tankards of beer are what you 
need. Defy Nature and you get the better of her. 
Kill or cure is my motto.” 

“As I have strong reasons to remain alive, I shan’t 
adopt your prescription, Dr. Greeby,” said Lambert, 
dryly. “What are you doing in these parts? I 
thought you were shooting in Scotland.” 

“So I was,” admitted the visitor, frankly and lay- 
ing her bludgeon — she still carried it — across her 
knee. “But I grew sick of the sport. Knocked over 
the birds too easy, Lambert, so there was no fun. The 
birds are getting as silly as the men.” 

“Well, women knock them over easy enough.” 

“That’s what I mean,” said Miss Greeby, vigor- 


184 


RED MONEY 


ously. "It’s a rotten world, this, unless one can get 
away into the wilds.” 

“Why don’t you go there?” 

“Well,” Miss Greeby leaned forward with her 
elbows on her knees, and dandled the bludgeon with 
both hands. “I thought I’d like a change from the 
rough and ready. This case of Pine’s rather puzzled 
me, and so I’m on the trail as a detective.” 

Lambert was rather startled. “That’s considerably 
out of your line, Clara.” 

Miss Greeby nodded. “Exactly, and so I’m indulg- 
ing in the novelty. One must do something to enter- 
tain one’s self, you know, Lambert. It struck me 
that the gypsies know a lot more about the matter 
than they chose to say, so I came down yesterday, and 
put up at the Garvington Arms in the village. Here 
I’m going to stay until I can get at the root of the 
matter.” 

“What root?” 

“I wish to learn who murdered Pine, poor devil.” 

“Ah,” Lambert smiled. “You wish to gain the 
reward.” 

“Not me. I’ve got more money than I know what 
to do with, as it is. Silver is more anxious to get 
the cash than I am.” 

“Silver! Have you seen him lately?” 

“A couple of days ago,” Miss Greeby informed him 
easily. “He’s my secretary now, Lambert. Yes ! The 
poor beast was chucked out of his comfortable billet 
by the death of Pine, and hearing that I wanted some 
one to write my letters and run my errands, and act 
like a tame cat generally, he applied to me. Since I 
knew him pretty well through Pine, I took him on. 
He’s a cunning little fox, but all right when he’s kept 
in order. And I find him pretty useful, although I’ve 
only had him as a secretary for a fortnight.” 


RED MONEY 


185 


Lambert did not immediately reply. The news 
rather amazed him, as it had always been Miss Gree- 
by’s boast that she could manage her own business. 
It was queer that she should have changed her mind 
in this respect, although she was woman enough to 
exercise that very feminine prerogative. But the 
immediate trend of Lambert’s thoughts were in the 
direction of seeking aid from his visitor. He could 
not act himself because he was sick, and he knew that 
she was a capable person in dealing with difficulties. 
Also, simply for the sake of something to do she had 
become an amateur detective and was hunting for the 
trail of Pine’s assassin. It seemed to Lambert that 
it would not be a bad idea to tell her of his troubles. 
She would, as he knew, be only too willing to assist, 
and in that readiness lay his hesitation. He did not 
wish, if possible, to lie under any obligation to Miss 
Greeby lest she should demand in payment that he 
should become her husband. And yet he believed that 
by this time she had overcome her desires in this direc- 
tion. To make sure, he ventured on a few cautious 
questions. 

“We’re friends, aren’t we, Clara?” he asked, after 
a long pause. 

“Sure,” said Miss Greeby, nodding heartily. “Does 
it need putting into words?” 

“I suppose not, but what I mean is that we are 
pals.” He used the word which he knew most ap- 
pealed to her masculine affectations. 

“Sure,” said Miss Greeby again, and once more 
heartily. “Real, honest pals. I never believed in 
that stuff about the impossibility of a man and woman 
being pals unless there’s love rubbish about the busi- 
ness. At one time, Lambert, I don’t deny but what 
I had a feeling of that sort for you.” 


186 


RED MONEY 


“And now ?” questioned the young man with an un- 
easy smile. 

“Now it’s gone, or rather my love has become 
affection, and that’s quite a different thing, old fellow. 
I want to see you happy, and you aren’t now. I dare- 
say you’re still crying for the moon. Eh ?” she 
looked at him sharply. 

“You asked me that before when you came here,” 
said Lambert, slowly. “And I refused to answer. I 
can answer now. The moon is quite beyond my reach, 
so I have dried my tears.” 

Miss Greeby, who was lighting a cigarette, threw 
away the match and stared hard at his haggard face. 
“Well, I didn’t expect to hear that, now we know how 
the moon — — ” 

“Call things by their right name,” interrupted Lam- 
bert, sharply. “Agnes is now a widow, if that’s what 
you mean.” 

“It is, if you call Agnes a thing. Of course, you’ll 
marry her since the barrier has been removed?” 

“Meaning Pine? No! I’m not certain on that 
point. She is a rich widow and I’m a poor artist. In 
honor bound I can’t allow her to lose her money by 
becoming my wife.” 

Miss Greeby stared at the fire. “I heard about that 
beastly will,” she said, frowning. “Horribly unfair, 
I call it. Still, I believed that you loved the moon — 
well, then, Agnes, since you wish us to be plain — and 
would carry her off if you had the pluck.” 

“I have never been accused of not having pluck, 
Clara. But there’s another thing to be considered, and 
that’s honor.” 

“Oh, bosh !” cried Miss Greeby, with boyish vigor. 
“You love her and she loves you, so why not marry?” 

“I’m not worth paying two million for, Clara.” 


RED MONEY 187 


“You are, if she loves you.” 

“She does and would marry me to-morrow if I 
would let her. The hesitation is on my part.” 

“More fool you. If I were in her position Fd soon 
overcome your scruples.” 

“I think not,” said Lambert delicately. 

“Oh, I think so,” she retorted. “A woman always 
gets her own way.” 

“And sometimes wrecks continents to get it.” 

“I’d wreck this one, anyhow,” said Miss Greeby 
dryly. “However, we’re pals, and if there’s anything 
I can do •” 

“Yes, there is,” said Lambert abruptly, and making 
up his mind to trust her, since she showed plainly that 
there was no chance of love on her part destroying 
friendship. “I’m sick here and can’t move. Let me 
engage you to act on my behalf.” 

“As what, if you don’t mind my asking, Lambert?” 

“As what you are for the moment, a detective.” 

“Ho!” said Miss Greeby in a guttural manner. 
“What’s that?” 

“I want you to learn on my behalf, and as my 
deputy, who murdered Pine.” 

“So that you can marry Agnes?” 

“No. The will has stopped my chances in that 
direction. Her two million forms quite an insur- 
mountable barrier between us now, as the fact of her 
being Pine’s wife did formerly. Now you understand 
the situation, and that I am prevented by honor from 
making her my wife, don’t let us talk any more on 
that especial subject.” 

“Right you are,” assented Miss Greeby affably. 
“Only I’ll say this, that you are too scrupulous, and 
if I can help you to marry Agnes I shall do so.” 

“Why?” demanded Lambert bluntly. 


188 


RED MONEY 


“Because I’m your pal and wish to see you happy. 
You won’t be happy, like the Pears soap advertise- 
ment, until you get it. Agnes is the ‘it.’ ” 

“Well, then, leave the matter alone, Clara,” said 
Lambert, taking the privilege of an invalid and be- 
coming peevish. “As things stand, I can see no 
chance of marrying Agnes without violating my idea 
of honor.” 

“Then why do you wish me to help you?” demanded 
Miss Greeby sharply. 

“How do I wish you to help me, you mean.” 

“Not at all. I know what you wish me to do; act 
as detective ; I know about it, my dear boy.” 

“You don’t,” retorted Lambert, again fractious. 
“But if you listen I’ll tell you exactly what I mean.” 

Miss Greeby made herself comfortable with a fresh 
cigarette, and nodded in an easy manner, “I’m all at- 
tention, old boy. Fire away!” 

“You must regard my confidence as sacred.” 

“There’s my hand on it. But I should like to know 
why you desire to learn who murdered Pine.” 

“Because if you don’t track down the assassin, 
Agnes will get into trouble.” 

“Ho!” ejaculated Miss Greeby, guttural again. “Go 
on.” 

Lambert wasted no further time in preliminary 
explanations, but plunged into the middle of things. 
In a quarter of an hour his auditor was acquainted 
with the facts of a highly unpleasant case, but exhib- 
ited no surprise when she heard what her secretary 
had to do with the matter. In fact, she rather ap- 
peared to admire his acuteness in turning such shady 
knowledge to his own advantage. At the same time, 
she considered that Agnes had behaved in a decidedly 
weak manner. “If I’d been in her shoes I’d have fired 
the beast out in double-quick time,” said Miss Greeby 


RED MONEY 


189 


grimly. “And I’d have belted him over the head in 
addition/’ 

“Then he would have gone straight to the police.” 

“Oh, no he wouldn’t. One thousand reward against 
twenty-five thousand blackmail isn’t good enough.” 

“He won’t get his blackmail,” said Lambert, tight- 
ening his lips. 

“You bet he won’t now that I’ve come into the 
matter. But there’s no denying he’s got the whip- 
hand so far.” 

“Agnes never wrote the letter,” said Lambert 
quickly. 

“Oh, that goes without the saying, my dear fellow. 
Agnes knew that if she became a rich widow, your 
uneasy sense of honor would never let you marry her. 
She had no reason to get rid of Pine on that score.” 

“Or on any score, you may add.” 

Miss Greeby nodded. “Certainly ! You and Agnes 
should have got married and let Garvington get out of 
his troubles as best he could. That’s what I should 
have done, as I’m not an aristocrat, and can’t see the 
use of becoming the sacrifice for a musty, fusty old 
family. However, Agnes made her bargain and kept 
to it. She’s all right, although other people may be 
not of that opinion.” 

“There isn’t a man or woman who dare say a word 
against Agnes.” 

“A good many will say lots of words, should what 
you have told me get into print,” rejoined Miss 
Greeby dryly. 

“I agree with you. Therefore do I ask for your 
assistance. What is best to be done, Clara?” 

“We must get the letter from Silver and learn who 
forged it. Once that is made plain, the truth will 
come to light, since the individual who forged and 
sent that letter must have fired the second shot.” 


190 


BED MONEY 


“Quite so. But Silver won’t give up the letter/’ 

“Oh, yes, he will. He’s my secretary, and I’ll make 
him.” 

“Even as your secretary he won’t,” said Lambert, 
dubiously. 

“We’ll see about that, old boy. I’ll heckle and 
harry and worry Silver on to the gallows if he doesn’t 
do what he’s told.” 

“The gallows. You don’t think ” 

“Oh, I think nothing. It was to Silver’s interest 
that Pine should live, so I don’t fancy he set the trap. 
It was to Chaldea’s interest that Pine should not live, 
since she loves you, and I don’t think she is to blame. 
Garvington couldn’t have done it, as he has lost a 
good friend in Pine, and — and — go on Lambert, sug- 
gest some one else.” 

“I can’t. And two out of three you mention were 
inside The Manor when the second shot was fired, so 
can prove an alibi.” 

“I’m not bothering about who fired the second 
shot,” said Miss Greeby leisurely, “but as to who 
wrote that letter. Once we find the forger, we’ll soon 
discover the assassin.” 

“True; but how are you going about it?” 

“I shall see Silver and force him to give me the 
letter.” 

“If you can.” 

“Oh, I’ll manage somehow. The little beast’s a 
coward, and I’ll bully him into compliance.” Miss 
Greeby spoke very confidently. “Then we’ll see the 
kind of paper the letter is written on, and there may 
be an envelope which would show where it was posted. 
Of course, the forger must be well acquainted with 
Agnes’s handwriting.” 

“That’s obvious,” said Lambert promptly. “Well, 
I suppose that your way of starting the matter is the 


RED MONEY 


191 


best. But we have only four days before Silver makes 
his move.” 

“When I get the letter he won’t make any move,” 
retorted Miss Greeby, and she looked very deter- 
mined. 

“Let us hope so. But, Clara, before you return to 
town I wish you would see Mother Cockleshell.” 

“That old gypsy fortune-teller, who looks like an 
almshouse widow ? Why ?” 

“She hates Chaldea, and I suspect that Chaldea has 
something to do with the matter of this conspiracy.” 

“Ha!” Miss Greeby rubbed her aquiline nose. “A 
conspiracy. Perhaps you may be right. But its 
reason ?” 

Lambert colored. “Chaldea wants me to marry 
her, you know.” 

“The minx! I know she does. I warned you 
against having her to sit for you, Lambert. But 
there’s no sense in your suggestion, my boy. It 
wasn’t any catch for her to get Pine killed and leave 
his wife free to marry you.” 

“No. And yet — and yet — hang it,” the young man 
clutched his hair in desperation and glared at the fire, 
“I can’t see any motive.” 

“Nor can I. Unless it is to be found in the City.” 

“Gypsies are more lawless than City men,” observed 
the other quickly, “and Hearne would have enemies 
rather than Pine.” 

“I don’t agree with you,” said Miss Greeby, rising 
and getting ready to go away. “Hearne was nobody : 
Pine was a millionaire. Successful men have enemies 
all over the shop.” 

“At the inquest it was said that Pine had no 
enemies.” 

“Oh, rubbish. A strong man like that couldn’t 
make such a fortune without exciting envy. I’ll bet 


192 


RED MONEY 


that his assassin is to be found in a frock coat and a 
silk hat. However, I’ll look up Mother Cockleshell, 
as it is just as well to know what she thinks of this 
pretty gypsy hussy of yours.” 

“Not of mine. I don’t care for her in the least.” 

“As if that mattered. There is always one who 
loves and one who is loved, as Heine says, and that 
is the cause of all life’s tragedies. Of this tragedy 
maybe, although I think some envious stockbroker 
may have shot Pine as a too successful financial rival. 
However, we shall see about it.” 

“And see about another thing, Clara,” said Lambert 
quickly. “Call on Agnes and tell her that she need 
not worry over Silver. She expects the Deluge in 
a few days, remember.” 

“Write and tell her that I have the case in hand and 
that she needn’t trouble about Silver. I’ll straighten 
him out.” 

“I fear you are too hopeful.” 

“I don’t fear anything of the sort. I’ll break his 
neck if he doesn’t obey me. I wouldn’t hesitate to 
do it, either.” 

Lambert ran his eyes over her masculine personality 
and laughed. “I quite believe that, Clara. But, I say, 
won’t you have some tea before you go?” 

“No, thanks. I don’t eat between meals.” 

“Afternoon tea is a meal.” 

“Nonsense. It’s a weakness. I’m not Garvington. 
By the way, where is he?” 

“In Paris, but he returns in a few days.” 

“Then don’t let him meddle with this matter, or 
he’ll put things wrong.” 

“I shall allow no one but yourself to meddle, Clara, 
Garvington shan’t know a single thing.” 

Miss Greeby nodded. “Right. All we wish kept 
quiet would be in the papers if Garvington gets hold 


RED MONEY 


198 


of our secrets. He’s a loose-tongued little glutton. 
[Well, good-bye, old chap, and do look after yourself. 
Good people are scarce.” 

Lambert gripped her large hand. "I’m awfully 
obliged to you, Clara.” 

“Wait until I do something before you say that, old 
son,” she laughed and strode towards the door. “By 
the way, oughtn’t I to send the doctor in?” 

“No. Confound the doctor ! I’m all right. You’ll 
see me on my legs in a few days.” 

“Then we can work together at the case. Keep 
your flag flying, old chap, for I’m at the helm to steer 
the bark.” And with this nautical farewell she went 
of! with a manly stride, whistling a gay tune. 

Left alone, the invalid looked into the fire, and 
wondered if he had been right to trust her. After 
some thought, he concluded that it was the best thing 
he could have done, since, in his present helpless state, 
he needed some one to act as his deputy. And there 
was no doubt that Miss Greeby had entirely overcome 
the passion she had once entertained for him. 

“I hope Agnes will think so also,” thought Lambert, 
when he began a letter to the lady. “She was always 
rather doubtful of Clara.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


MISS GREEBY, DETECTIVE. 

As Miss Greeby had informed Lambert, she in- 
tended to remain at the Garvington Arms until the 
mystery of Pine’s death was solved. But her inter- 
view with him necessitated a rearrangement of plans, 
since the incriminating letter appeared to be such an 
important piece of evidence. To obtain it, Miss Gree- 
by had decided to return to London forthwith, in order 
to compel its surrender. Silver would undoubtedly 
show fight, but his mistress was grimly satisfied that 
she would be able to manage him, and quite counted 
upon gaining her end by bullying him into compli- 
ance. When in possession of the letter she decided 
to submit it to Agnes and hear what that lady had to 
say about it as a dexterous piece of forgery. Then, 
on what was said would depend her next move in the 
complicated game. Meanwhile, since she was on the 
spot and desired to gather all possible evidence con- 
nected with Chaldea’s apparent knowledge of the 
crime, Miss Greeby went straight from Lambert’s cot- 
tage to the gypsy camp. 

Here she found the community of vagrants in the 
throes of an election, or rather their excitement was 
connected with the deposition of Gentilla Stanley 
from the Bohemian throne, and the elevation of Chal- 
dea. Miss Greeby mixed with the throng, dispensed a 
few judicious shillings and speedily became aware of 
what was going on. It appeared that Chaldea, being 
194 


RED MONEY 


195 


pretty and unscrupulous, and having gained, by cun- 
ning, a wonderful influence amongst the younger mem- 
bers of the tribe, was insisting that she should be 
elected its head. The older men and women, believ- 
ing wisely that it was better to have an experienced 
ruler than a pretty figurehead, stood by Mother Cockle- 
shell, therefore the camp was divided into two parties. 
Tongues were used freely, and occasionally fists came 
into play, while the gypsies gathered round the tent of 
the old woman and listened to the duet between her 
and the younger aspirant to this throne of Brentford. 
Miss Greeby, with crossed legs and leaning on her 
bludgeon, listened to the voluble speech of Mother 
Cockleshell, which was occasionally interrupted by 
Chaldea. The oration was delivered in Romany, and 
Miss Greeby only understood such scraps of it as was 
hastily translated to her by a wild-eyed girl to whom 
she had given a shilling. Gentilla, less like a sober 
pew-opener, and more resembling the Hecate of some 
witch-gathering, screamed objurgations at the pitch of 
her cracked voice, and waved her skinny arms to em- 
phasize her words, in a most dramatic fashion. 

“Oh, ye Romans,” she screeched vehemently, “are 
ye not fools to be gulled by a babe with her mother’s 
milk — and curses that it fed her — scarcely dry on her 
living lips? Who am I who speak, asses of the com- 
mon? Gentilla Stanley, whose father was Pharaoh 
before her, and who can call up the ghosts of dead 
Egyptian kings, with a tent for a palace, and a cudgel 
for a sceptre, and the wisdom of our people at the ser- 
vice of all.” 

“Things have changed,” cried out Chaldea with a 
mocking laugh. “For old wisdom is dead leaves, and 
I am the tree which puts forth the green of new 
truths to make the Gorgios take off their hats to the 
Romans.” 


196 


RED MONEY 


“Oh, spawn of the old devil, but you lie. Truth 
is truth and changes not. Can you read the hand? 
can you cheat the Gentile? do you know the law of 
the Poknees, and can you diddle them as has money? 
Says you, ‘I can!’ And in that you lie, like your 
mother before you. Bless your wisdom” — Mother 
Cockleshell made an ironical curtsey. “Age must bow 
before a brat.” 

“Beauty draws money to the Romans, and wheedles 
the Gorgios to part with red gold. Wrinkles you 
have, mother, and weak wits to ” 

“Weak wits, you drab? My weakest wits are your 
strongest. ‘Wrinkles/ says you in your cunning way, 
and flaunts your brazen smoothness. I spit on you for 
a fool.” The old woman suited her action to the word. 
“Every wrinkle is the mark of lessons learned, and 
them is wisdom which the Romans take from my 
mouth.” 

“Hear the witchly hag,” cried Chaldea in her turn. 
“She and her musty wisdom that puts the Romans 
under the feet of the Gentiles. Are not three of our 
brothers in choky? have we not been turned off com- 
mon and out of field? Isn’t the fire low and the pot 
empty, and every purse without gold? Bad luck she 
has brought us,” snarled the girl, pointing an accusing 
finger. “And bad luck we Romans will have till she 
is turned from the camp.” 

“Like a dog you would send me away,” shrieked 
Mother Cockleshell, glancing round and seeing that 
Chaldea’s supporters outnumbered her own. “But 
I’m dangerous, and go I shall as a queen should, at 
my own free will. I cast a shoe amongst you,” — she 
flung one of her own, hastily snatched off her foot — 
“and curses gather round it. Under its heels shall you 
lie, ye Romans, till time again and time once more be 
accomplished. I go on my own,” she turned and 


RED MONEY 


197 


walked to the door of her tent. “Alone I go to cheat 
the Gentiles and win my food. Take your new queen, 
and with her sorrow and starvation, prison, and the 
kicks of the Gorgios. So it is, as I have said, and so 
it shall be.” 

She vanished into the tent, and the older members 
of the tribe, shaking their heads over the ill-omen of 
her concluding words, withdrew sorrowfully to their 
various habitations, in order to discuss the situation. 
But the young men and women bowed down before 
Chaldea and forthwith elected her their ruler, fawning 
on her, kissing her hands and invoking blessings on 
her pretty face, that face which they hoped and be- 
lieved would bring prosperity to them. And there was 
no doubt that of late, under Mother Cockleshell’s lead- 
ership, the tribe had been unfortunate in many ways. 
It was for this reason that Chaldea had raised the 
standard of rebellion, and for this reason also she 
gained her triumph. To celebrate her coronation she 
gave Kara, who hovered constantly at her elbow, a 
couple of sovereigns, and told him to buy food and 
drink. In a high state of enjoyment the gypsies dis- 
persed in order to prepare for the forthcoming fes- 
tivity, and Chaldea, weary but victorious, stood alone 
by the steps of the caravan, which was her perambu- 
lating home. Seizing her opportunity, Miss Greeby 
approached. 

“My congratulations to your majesty,” she said 
ironically. “I’m sorry not to be able to stay for your 
coronation, which I presume takes place to-night. But 
I have to go back to London to see a friend of yours.” 

“I have no friends, my Gentile lady,” retorted Chal- 
dea, with a fiery spark in each eye. “And what do 
you here amongst the gentle Romany?” 

“Gentle,” Miss Greeby chuckled, “that’s a new word 


198 


RED MONEY 


for the row that’s been going on, my girl. Do you 
know me?” 

“As I know the road and the tent and the art of 
dukkerhin. You stay at the big house, and you love 
the rye who lived in the wood.” 

“Very clever of you to guess that,” said Miss Gree- 
by coolly, “but as it happens, you are wrong. The 
rye is not for me and not for you. He marries the 
lady he worships on his knees. Forgive me for speak- 
ing in this high-flowing manner,” ended Miss Greeby 
apologetically, “but in romantic situations one must 
speak romantic words.” 

Chaldea did not pay attention to the greater part 
of this speech, as only one statement appealed to her. 
“The rye shall not marry the Gentile lady,” she said 
between her white teeth. 

“Oh, I think so, Chaldea. Your plotting has all 
been in vain.” 

“My plotting. What do you know of that ?” 

“A certain portion, my girl, and I’m going to know 
more when I see Silver.” 

Chaldea frowned darkly. “I know nothing of him.” 

“I think you do, since you gave him a certain let- 
ter.” 

“Patchessa tu adove?” asked Chaldea scornfully; 
then, seeing that her visitor did not understand her, 
explained: “Do you believe in that?” 

“Yes,” said Miss Greeby alertly. “You found the 
letter in Pine’s tent when he was camping here as 
Hearne, and passed it to Silver so that he might ask 
money for it.” 

“It’s a lie. I swear it’s a lie. I ask no money. I 
told the tiny rye ” 

“Silver, I presume,” put in Miss Greeby carelessly. 

“Aye: Silver is his name, and a good one for him 
as has no gold.” 


RED MONEY 


199 


“He will get gold from Lady Agnes for the let- 
ter.” 

“No. Drodi — ah bah!” broke off Chaldea. “You 
don’t understand Romanes. I speak the Gorgio tongue 
to such as you. Listen ! I found the letter which lured 
my brother to his death. The rani wrote that letter, and 
I gave it to the tiny rye, saying: ‘Tell her if she gives 
up the big rye free she shall go; if not take the let- 
ter to those who deal in the law.’ ” 

“The police, I suppose you mean,” said Miss Greeby 
coolly. “A very pretty scheme, my good girl. But 
it won’t do, you know. Lady Agnes never wrote 
that letter, and had nothing to do with the death of 
her husband.” 

“She set a trap for him,” cried Chaldea fiercely, 
“and Hearne walked into it like a rabbit into a snare. 
The big rye waited outside and shot — — ” 

“That’s a lie,” interrupted Miss Greeby just as 
fiercely, and determined to defend her friend. “He 
would not do such a thing.” 

“Ha! but I can prove it, and will when the time 
is ripe. He becomes my rom does the big rye, or 
round his neck goes the rope; and she dances long- 
side, I swear.” 

“What a bloodthirsty idea, you savage devil ! And 
how do you propose to prove that Mr. Lambert shot 
the man?” 

“Aha,” sneered Chaldea contemptuously, “you take 
me for a fool, saying more than I can do. But know 
this, my precious angel” — she fumbled in her pocket 
and brought out a more or less formless piece of lead 
— “what’s this, may I ask? The bullet which passed 
through Hearne’s heart, and buried itself in a tree- 
trunk.” 

Miss Greeby made a snatch at the article, but Chal- 
dea was too quick for her and slipped it again into 


200 BED MONEY 


her pocket. “You can’t prove that it is the bullet,” 
snapped Miss Greeby glaring, for she dreaded lest its 
production should incriminate Lambert, innocent 
though she believed him to be. 

“Kara can prove it. He went to where Hearne 
was shot and saw that there was a big tree by the 
blue door, and before the shrubbery. A shot fired 
from behind the bushes would by chance strike the 
tree. The bullet which killed my brother was not 
found in the heart. It passed through and was in the 
tree-trunk. Kara knifed it out and brought it to me. 
If this,” Chaldea held up the bullet again jeeringly, 
“fits the pistol of the big rye he will swing for sure. 
The letter hangs her and the bullet hangs him. I 
want my price.” 

“You won’t get it, then,” said Miss Greeby, eyeing 
the pocket into which the girl had again dropped the 
bullet. “Mr. Lambert was absent in London on that 
night. I heard that by chance.” 

“Then you heard wrong, my Gentile lady. Avali, 
quite wrong. The big rye returned on that very night 
and went to Lundra again in the morning.” 

“Even if he did,” said Miss Greeby desperately, “he 
did not leave the cottage. His housekeeper can 
prove ” 

“Nothing,” snapped Chaldea triumphantly. “She 
was in her bed and the golden rye was in his bed. 
My brother was killed after midnight, and if the rye 
took a walk then, who can say where he was?” 

“You have to prove all this, you know.” 

Chaldea snapped her fingers. “First, the letter to 
shame her; then the bullet to hang him. The rest 
comes after. My price, you know, my Gorgious art- 
ful. I toves my own o- a d. It’s a good proverb, lady, 
and true Romany.” 

“What does it mean?” 


RED MONEY 


201 


“I wash my own shirt,” said Chaldea, significantly, 
and sprang up the steps of her gaily-painted caravan 
to shut herself in. 

“What a fool I am not to take that bullet from 
her,” thought Miss Greeby, standing irresolutely be- 
fore the vehicle, and she cast a glance around to see 
if such an idea was feasible. It was not, as she speed- 
ily decided, for a single cry from Chaldea would bring 
the gypsies round to protect their new queen. It was 
probable also that the girl would fight like a wild cat ; 
although Miss Greeby felt that she could manage her 
so far. But she was not equal to fighting the whole 
camp of vagrants, and so was compelled to abandon 
her scheme. In a somewhat discontented mood, she 
turned away, feeling that, so far, Chaldea had the 
whip-hand. 

Then it occurred to her that she had not yet ex- 
amined Mother Cockleshell as had been her original 
intention when she came .to the camp. Forthwith she 
passed back to the tent under the elm, to interview the 
deposed queen. Here, she found Gentilla Stanley plac- 
ing her goods in an untidy bundle on the back of a 
large gray donkey, which was her private property. 
The old creature’s eyes were red with weeping and her 
gray hair had fallen down, so that she presented a 
somewhat wild appearance. This, in connection with 
her employment, reminded Miss Greeby — whose read- 
ing was wide — of a similar scene in Borrow’s “Laven- 
gro,” when Mrs. Pentulengro’s mother shifted her- 
self. And for the moment Mother Cockleshell had 
just the hairy looks of Mrs. Hern, and also at the mo- 
ment, probably had the same amiable feelings. 

Feeling that the old woman detested her successful 
rival, Miss Greeby approached, guessing that now was 
the right moment to work on her mind, and thus to 
learn what she could of Chaldea’s underhand doings. 


202 


RED MONEY 


She quite expected a snub, as Gentilla could scarcely 
be expected to answer questions when taken up with 
her own troubles. But the artful creature, seeing by 
a side-glance that Miss Greeby was a wealthy Gen- 
tile lady, dropped one of her almshouse curtseys when 
she approached, and bundled up her hair. A change 
passed over her withered face, and Miss Greeby found 
herself addressing not so much a fallen queen, as a 
respectable old woman who had known better days. 

“And a blessing on your sweet face, my angel,” 
mumbled Mother Cockleshell. “For a heart you have 
to feel for my sorrows.’’ 

“Here is a sign of my feelings,” said Miss Greeby, 
handing over a sovereign, for she rightly judged that 
the gypsy would only appreciate this outward symbol 
of sympathy. “Now, what do you know of Pine’s 
murder ?” 

Mother Cockleshell, who was busy tying up the 
sovereign in a corner of her respectable shawl, after 
biting it to make sure it was current gold, looked up 
with a vacant expression. “Murder, my lady, and 
what should I know of that?” 

Miss Greeby looked at her straightly. “What does 
Chaldea know of it?” 

A vicious pair of devils looked out of the decent 
widow’s eyes in a moment, and at once she became 
the Romany. “Hai! She knows, does she, the drab! 
I hope to see her hanged.” 

“For what?” 

“For killing of Hearne, may his bones rest sweetly.” 

Miss Greeby suppressed an exclamation. “She ac- 
cuses Lady Agnes of laying a trap by writing a let- 
ter, and says that Mr. Lambert fired the shot.” 

“Avali ! Avali !” Mother Cockleshell nodded vig- 
orously, but did not interrupt her preparations for de- 
parture. “That she would say, since she loves the 


RED MONEY 


203 


Gorgio, and hates the rani. A rope round her neck to 
set the rye free to make Chaldea — my curses on her 
— his true wife.” 

“She couldn’t have fired the shot herself, you know,” 
went on Miss Greeby in a musing manner. “For then 
she would remove an obstacle to Mr. Lambert marry- 
ing Lady Agnes.” 

“Blessings on her for a kind, Gentile lady,” said 
Gentilla, piously, and looking more respectable than 
ever, since the lurking devils had disappeared. “But 
Chaldea is artful, and knows the rye.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“This, my lady. Hearne, who was the Gorgio 
Pine, had the angel to wife, but he did not hope to 
live long because of illness.” 

Miss Greeby nodded. “Consumption, Pine told me.” 

“If he had died natural,” pursued Mother Cockle- 
shell, pulling hard at a strap, “maybe the Gentile lady 
would have married the golden rye, whom she loves. 
But by the violent death, Chaldea has tangled up both 
in her knots, and if they wed she will make trouble.” 

“So she says. But can she?” 

“Hai ! But she’s a deep one, ma’am, believe me 
when I say so,” Mother Cockleshell nodded sapiently. 
“But foolish trouble has she given herself, when the 
death of Hearne natural, or by the pistol-shot would 
stop the marriage.” 

“What do you mean?” inquired Miss Greeby once 
more. 

“You Gentiles are fools,” said Gentilla, politely. 
“For you put other things before true love. Hearne, 
as Pine, had much gold, and that he left to his wife 
should she not marry the golden rye.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“Chaldea was told so by the dead, and told me, my 
lady. Now the angel of the big house would give up 


204 


RED MONEY 


the gold to marry the rye, for her heart is all for 
him. ‘But/ says he, and tell me if I’m wrong. Says 
he, ‘No. If I make you my romi that would beggar 
you and fair it would not be, for a Romany rye to 
do!’ So, my lady, the red gold parts them, because 
it’s red money.” 

“Red money?” 

“Blood money. The taint of blood is on the wealth 
of the dead one, and so it divides by a curse the true 
hearts of the living. You see, my lady?” 

Miss Greeby did see, and the more readily, since 
she had heard Lambert express exactly the sentiments 
with which the old gypsy credited him. An over- 
strained feeling of honor prevented him in any case 
from making Agnes his wife, whether the death had 
come by violence or by natural causes. But it was 
amazing that Gentilla should know this, and Miss 
Greeby wonderingly asked her how she came by such 
knowledge. The respectable widow chuckled. 

“I have witchly ways, ma’am, and the golden rye 
has talked many a time to me in my tent, when I told 
him of the Gorgious lady’s goodness to me when ill. 
They love — aye, that is sure — but the money divides 
their hearts, and that is foolish. Chaldea had no need 
to shoot to keep them apart.” 

“How do you know she shot Pine?” 

“Oh, I can say nothing the Poknees would listen 
to,” said Mother Cockleshell readily. “For I speak 
only as I think, and not as I know. But the child was 
impatient for joy, and hoped by placing the cruel will 
between true hearts to gain that of the golden rye for 
her own part. But that she will not. Ha ! Ha ! Nor 
you, my lady, nor you.” 

“Me?” Miss Greeby colored even redder than she 
was by nature. 

Gentilla looked at her shrewdly. “La ! La ! La ! La !” 


RED MONE1 


205 


she croaked. “Age brings a mighty wisdom. They 
were fools to throw me out/’ and she jerked her griz- 
zled head in the direction of the caravans and tents. 

“Don’t talk rubbish, you old donkey! Mr. Lam- 
Tert is only my friend.” 

“You’re a woman and he’s a man,” said Mother 
Cockleshell sententiously. 

“We are chums, pals, whatever you like to call us. 
I want to see him happy.” 

“He will never be happy, my lady, unless he mar- 
ries the rani. And death, by bringing the money be- 
tween their true love, has divided them forever, un- 
less the golden rye puts his heart before his fear of 
silly chatter for them he moves amongst. The child 
was right to shoot Hearne, so far, although she could 
have waited and gained the same end. The rye is free 
to marry her, or to marry you, ma’am, but never to 
marry the angel, unless ” Mother Cockleshell ad- 

justed the bundle carefully on the donkey, and then cut 
a long switch from the tree. 

“I don’t want to marry Mr. Lambert,” said Miss 
Greeby decisively. “And I’ll take care that Chaldea 
doesn’t.” 

Gentilla chuckled again. “Oh, trust you for that.” 

“As to Chaldea shooting Pine ” 

“Leave it to me, leave it to me, ma’am,” said the 
old gypsy with a grandiloquent wave of her dirty hand. 

“But I wish to learn the truth and save Lady Agnes 
from this trouble.” 

“You wish to save her?” chuckled Mother Cockle- 
shell. “And not the golden rye? Ah well, my angel, 
there are women, and women.” She faced round, and 
the humor died out of her wrinkled face. “You wish 
for help and so have come to see me? Is it not so?” 

“Yes,” said Miss Greeby tartly. “Chaldea will make 
trouble.” 


206 RED MONEY 


“The child won’t. I can manage her.” 

Miss Greeby hitched up her broad shoulders con- 
temptuously. “She has managed you just now.” 

“There are ways and ways, and when the hour ar- 
rives, the sun rises to scatter the darkness,” said Gen- 
tilla mystically. “Let the child win for the moment, 
for my turn comes.” 

“Then you know something?” 

“What I know mustn’t be said till the hour strikes. 
But content yourself, my Gorgious lady, with know- 
ing that the child will make no trouble.” 

“She has parted with the letter?” 

“I know of that letter. Hearne showed it to me, and 
would make for the big house, although I told him 
fair not to doubt his true wife.” 

“How did he get the letter?” 

“That’s tellings,” said Mother Cockleshell with a 
wink of her lively eye. 

“I’ve a good mind to take you to the police, and 
then you’d be forced to say what you know,” said Miss 
Greeby crossly, for the vague hints irritated her not 
a little. 

The old woman cackled in evident enjoyment. “Do 
that, and the pot will boil over, ma’am. I wish to help 
the angel rani who nursed me when I was sick, and I 
have debts to pay to Chaldea. Both I do in my own 
witchly way.” 

“You will help me to learn the truth?” 

“Surely! Surely! my Gorgious one. And now,” 
Mother Cockleshell gave a tug at the donkey’s mouth, 
“I goes my ways.” 

“But where can I find you again?” 

“When the time comes the mouth will open, and 
them as thinks they’re high will find themselves in 
the dust. Aye, and maybe lower, if six feet of good 


RED MONEY 


207 


earth lies atop, and them burning in lime, uncoffined 
and unblessed.” 

Miss Greeby was masculine and fearless, but there 
was something so weird about this mystic sentence, 
which hinted at capital punishment, that she shrank 
back nervously. Mother Cockleshell, delighted to see 
that she had made an impression, climbed on to the 
gray donkey and made a progress through the camp. 
Passing by Chaldea’s caravan she spat on it and mut- 
tered a word or so, which did not indicate that she 
wished a blessing to rest on it. Chaldea did not show 
herself, so the deposed queen was accompanied to the 
outskirts of the wood by the elder gypsies, mourning 
loudly. But when they finally halted to see the last of 
Mother Cockleshell, she raised her hand and spoke 
authoritatively. 

“1 go and I come, my children. Forget not, ye 
Romans, that I say so much. When the seed needs 
rain it falls. Sarishan, brothers and sisters all.” And 
with this strange speech, mystical to the last, she rode 
away into the setting sun, on the gray donkey, look- 
ing more like an almshouse widow than ever. 

As for Miss Greeby, she strode out of the camp and 
out of the Abbot’s Wood, and made for the Garving- 
ton Arms, where she had left her baggage. What 
Mother Cockleshell knew, she did not guess; what 
Mother Cockleshell intended to do, she could not think ; 
but she was satisfied that Chaldea would in some way 
pay for her triumph. And the downfall of the girl 
was evidently connected with the unravelling of the 
murder mystery. In a witchly way, as the old woman 
would have said herself, she intended to adjust mat- 
ters. 

‘Til leave things so far in her hands,” thought Miss 
Greeby. “Now for Silver.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


GUESSWORK. 

Whether Miss Greeby found a difficulty, as was 
probable, in getting Silver to hand over the forged 
letter, or whether she had decided to leave the solu- 
tion of this mystery to Mother Cockleshell, it is im- 
possible to say. But she certainly did not put in an 
appearance at Lady Agnes Pine's town house to re- 
port progress until after the new year. Nor in the 
meantime did she visit Lambert, although she wrote 
to say that she induced the secretary to delay his 
threatened exposure. The position of things was there- 
fore highly unsatisfactory, since the consequent sus- 
pense was painful both to Agnes and her lover. And 
of course the widow had been duly informed of the in- 
terview at the cottage, and naturally expected events 
to move more rapidly. 

However, taking the wise advice of Isaiah to “Make 
no haste in time of trouble," Agnes possessed her soul 
in patience, and did not seek out Miss Greeby in any 
way, either by visiting or by letter. She attended at 
her lawyers' offices to supervise her late husband’s 
affairs, and had frequent consultations with Garving- 
ton’s solicitors in connection with the freeing of the 
Lambert estates. Everything was going on very satis- 
factorily, even to the improvement of Lambert’s health, 
so Agnes was not at all so ill at ease in her mind as 
might have been expected. Certainly the sword of 
Damocles still dangled over her head, and over the 
208 


RED MONEY 


209 


head of Lambert, but a consciousness that they were 
both innocent, assured her inwardly that it would not 
fall. Nevertheless the beginning of the new year found 
her in anything but a placid frame of mind. She 
was greatly relieved when Miss Greeby at last con- 
descended to pay her a visit. 

Luckily Agnes was alone when the lady arrived, as 
Garvington and his wife were both out enjoying them- 
selves in their several ways. The pair had been stay- 
ing with the wealthy widow for Christmas, and had 
not yet taken their departure, since Garvington al- 
ways tried to live at somebody’s expense if possible. 
He had naturally shut up The Manor during the fes- 
tive season, as the villagers expected coals and blan- 
kets and port wine and plum-puddings, which he had 
neither the money nor the inclination to supply. In 
fact, the greedy little man considered that they should 
ask for nothing and pay larger rents than they did. 
By deserting them when peace on earth and goodwill 
to men prevailed, or ought to have prevailed, he dis- 
appointed them greatly and chuckled over their lam- 
entations. Garvington was very human in some 
ways. 

However, both the corpulent little lord and his un- 
tidy wife were out of the way when Miss Greeby was 
announced, and Agnes was thankful that such was the 
case, since the interview was bound to be an important 
one. Miss Greeby, as usual, looked large and aggres- 
sively healthy, bouncing into the room like an india- 
rubber ball. Her town dress differed very little from 
the garb she wore in the country, save that she had a 
feather-trimmed hat instead of a man’s cap, and car- 
ried an umbrella in place of a bludgeon. A smile, 
which showed all her strong white teeth in a some- 
what carnivorous way, overspread her face as she 
shook hands vigorously with her hostess. And Miss 


210 


RED MONEY 


Greeby’s grip was so friendly as to be positively pain- 
ful. 

“Here you are, Agnes, and here am I. Beastly day, 
ain’t it? Rain and rain and rain again. Seems as 
though we’d gone back to Father Noah’s times, don’t 
it?” 

“I expected you before, Clara,” remarked Lady 
Agnes rather hurriedly, and too full of anxiety to dis- 
cuss the weather. 

“Well, I intended to come before,” confessed Miss 
Greeby candidly. “Only, one thing and another pre- 
vented me!” Agnes noticed that she did not specify 
the hindrances. “It was the deuce’s own job to get 
that letter. Oh, by the way, I suppose Lambert told 
you about the letter?” 

“Mr. Silver told me about it, and I told Noel,” re- 
sponded Agnes gravely. “I also heard about your 
interview with ” 

“Oh, that’s ages ago, long before Christmas. I 
should have gone and seen him, to tell about my ex- 
periences at the gypsy camp, but I thought that I 
would learn more before making my report as a de- 
tective. By the way, how is Lambert, do you know ?” 

“He is all right now, and is in town.” 

“At his old rooms, I suppose. For how long? I 
want to see him.” 

“For an indefinite period. Garvington has turned 
him out of the cottage.” 

“The deuce! What’s that for?” 

“Well,” said Agnes, explaining reluctantly, “you 
see Noel paid no rent, as Garvington is his cousin, and 
when an offer came along offering a pound a week 
for the place, Garvington said that he was too poor 
to refuse it. So Noel has taken a small house in 
Kensington, and Mrs. Tribb has been installed as his 
housekeeper. I wonder you didn’t know these things.” 


RED MONEY 


211 


“Why should I?” asked Miss Greeby, rather ag- 
gressively. 

“Because it is Mr. Silver who has taken the cot- 
tage.” 

Miss Greeby sat up alertly. “Silver. Oh, indeed. 
Then that explains why he asked me for leave to stay 
in the country. Said his health required fresh air, and 
that London got on his nerves. Hum! hum!” Miss 
Greeby bit the handle of her umbrella. “So he’s 
taken the Abbot’s Wood Cottage, has he? I wonder 
what that’s for?” 

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” said Agnes rest- 
lessly. “Of course I could have prevented Garving- 
ton letting it to him, since he tried to blackmail me, 
but I thought it was best to see the letter, and to 
understand his meaning more thoroughly before tell- 
ing my brother about his impertinence. Noel wanted 
me to tell, but I decided not to — in the meantime at 
all events.” 

“Silver’s meaning is not hard to understand,” said 
Miss Greeby, drily and feeling in her pocket. “He 
wants to get twenty-five thousand pounds for this.” 
She produced a sheet of paper dramatically. “How- 
ever, I made the little animal give it to me for nothing. 
Never mind what arguments I used. I got it out of 
him, and brought it to show you.” 

Agnes, paling slightly, took the letter and glanced 
over it with surprise. 

“Well,” she said* drawing a long breath, “if I had 
not been certain that I never wrote such a letter, I 
should believe that I did. My handwriting has cer- 
tainly been imitated in a wonderfully accurate way.” 

“Who imitated it?” asked Miss Greeby, who was 
watching her eagerly. 

“I can’t say. But doesn’t Mr. Silver ” 

“Oh, he knows nothing, or says that he knows 


212 


RED MONEY 


nothing. All he swears to is that Chaldea found the 
letter in Pine’s tent the day after his murder, and 
before Inspector Darby had time to search. The en- 
velope had been destroyed, so we don’t know if the 
letter was posted or delivered by hand.” 

“If I had written such a letter to Noel,” said Agnes 
quietly, “it certainly would have been delivered by 
hand.” 

“In which case Pine might have intercepted the 
messenger,” put in Miss Greeby. “It couldn’t have 
been sent by post, or Pine would not have got hold of 
it, unless he bribed Mrs. Tribb into giving it up.” 

“Mrs. Tribb is not open to bribery, Clara. And as 
to the letter, I never wrote it, nor did Noel ever re- 
ceive it.” 

“It was written from The Manor, anyhow,” said 
Miss Greeby bluntly. “Look at the crest and the head- 
ing. Someone in the house wrote it, if you didn’t.” 

“I’m not so sure of that. The paper might have 
been stolen.” 

“Well.” Miss Greeby again bit her umbrella han- 
dle reflectively. “There’s something in that, Agnes. 
Chaldea told Mrs. Belgrove’s fortune in the park, and 
afterwards she came to the drawing-room to tell it 
again. I wonder if she stole the paper while she was 
in the house.” 

“Even if she did, an uneducated gypsy could not 
have forged the letter.” 

“She might have got somebody to do so,” suggested 
Miss Greeby, nodding. 

“Then the somebody must be well acquainted with 
my handwriting,” retorted Lady Agnes, and began to 
study the few lines closely. 

She might have written it herself, so much did it 
resemble her style of writing. The terse communi- 
cation stated that the writer, who signed herself 


RED MONEY 


213 


“Agnes Pine/’ would meet “her dearest Noel” out- 
side the blue door, shortly after midnight, and hoped 
that he would have the motor at the park gates to 
take them to London en route to Paris. “Hubert is 
sure to get a divorce,” ended the letter, “and then we 
can marry at once and be happy ever more.” 

It was certainly a silly letter, and Agnes laughed 
scornfully. 

“I don’t express myself in that way,” she said con- 
temptuously, and still eyeing the writing wonderingly. 
“And as I respected my husband and respect myself, 
I should never have thought of eloping with my cou- 
sin, especially from Garvington’s house, when I had 
much better and safer chances of eloping in town. 
Had Noel received this, he would never have believed 
that I wrote it, as I assuredly did not. And a ‘motor 
at the park gates/ ” she read. “Why not at the pos- 
tern gate, which leads to the blue door? that would 
have been safer and more reasonable. Pah! I never 
heard such rubbish,” and she folded up the letter to 
slip it into her pocket. 

Miss Greeby looked rather aghast. “Oh, you must 
give it back to me,” she said hurriedly. “I have to 
look into the case, you know.” 

“I shall not give it back to you,” said Agnes in a 
determined manner. “It is in my possession and shall 
remain there. I wish to show it to Noel.” 

“And what am I to say to Silver?” 

“Whatever you like. You can manage him, you 
know.” 

“He’ll make trouble.” 

“Now that he has lost this weapon” — Agnes touched 
her pocket — “he can’t.” 

“Well” — Miss Greeby shrugged her big shoulders 
and stood up — “just as you please. But it would be 
best to leave the letter and the case in my hands.” 


214 , RED MONEY 


“I think not/’ rejoined Agnes decisively. “Noel is 
now quite well again, and I prefer him to take charge 
of the matter himself.” 

“Is that all the thanks I get for my trouble ?” 

“My dear Clara/’ said the other cordially, “I am 
ever so much obliged to you for robbing Mr. Silver of 
this letter. But I don’t wish to put you to any more 
trouble.” 

“Just as you please,” said Miss Greeby again, and 
rather sullenly. “I wash my hands of the business, 
and if Silver makes trouble you have only yourself 
to thank. I advise you also, Agnes, to see Mother 
Cockleshell and learn what she has to say.” 

“Does she know anything?” 

“She gave me certain mysterious hints that she did. 
But she appears to have a great opinion of you, my 
dear, so she may be more open with you than she was 
with me.” 

“Where is she to be found?” 

“I don’t know. Chaldea is queen of the tribe, which 
is still camped on the outskirts of Abbot’s Wood. 
Mother Cockleshell has gone away on her own. Have 
you any idea who wrote the letter ?” 

Agnes took out the forged missive again and 
studied it. “Not in the least,” she said, shaking her 
head. 

“Do you know of any one who can imitate your 
handwriting?” 

“Not that I know — oh,” she stopped suddenly and 
grew as white as the widow’s cap she wore. “Oh,” 
she said blankly. 

“What is it?” demanded Miss Greeby, on fire with 
curiosity. “Have you thought of any one?” 

Agnes shook her head again and placed the letter in 
her pocket. “I can think of no one,” she said in a 
low voice. 


j RED MONEY 


215 


Miss Greeby did not entirely believe this, as the 
sudden hesitation and the paleness hinted at some un- 
expected thought, probably connected with the for- 
gery. However, since she had done all she could, it 
was best, as she judged, to leave things in the wid- 
ow’s hands. “I’m tired of the whole business,” said 
Miss Greeby carelessly. “It wouldn’t do for me to 
be a detective, as I have no staying power, and get 
sick of things. Still, if you want me, you know where 
to send for me, and at all events I’ve drawn Silver’s 
teeth.” 

“Yes, dear; thank you very much,” said Agnes me- 
chanically, so the visitor took her leave, wondering 
what was rendering her hostess so absent-minded. A 
very persistent thought told her that Agnes had made 
a discovery in connection with the letter, but since 
she would not impart that thought there was no more 
to be said. 

When Miss Greeby left the house and was striding 
down the street, Agnes for the third time took the 
letter from her pocket and studied every line of the 
writing. It was wonderfully like her own, she thought 
again, and yet wondered both at the contents and at 
the signature. “I should never have written in this 
way to Noel,” she reflected. “And certainly I should 
never have signed myself 'Agnes Pine’ to so intimate 
a note. However, we shall see,” and with this cryp- 
tic thought she placed the letter in her desk. 

When Garvington and his wife returned they found 
Agnes singularly quiet and pale. The little man did 
not notice this, as he never took any interest in other 
people’s emotions, but his wife asked questions to 
which she received no answers, and looked at Agnes 
uneasily, when she saw that she did not eat any din- 
ner to speak of. Lady Garvington was very fond of 
her kind-hearted sister-in-law, and would have been 


216 RED MONEY 


glad to know what was troubling her. But Agnes 
kept her worries to herself, and insisted that Jane 
should go to the pantomime, as she had arranged with 
some friends instead of remaining at home. But 
when Garvington moved to leave the drawing-room, 
after drinking his coffee, his sister detained him. 

“I want you to come to the library to write a letter 
for me, Freddy,’’ she said in a tremulous voice. 

“Can’t you write it yourself?” said Garvington self- 
ishly, as he was in a hurry to get to his club. 

“No, dear. I am so tired,” sighed Agnes, passing 
her hand across her brow. 

“Then you should have kept on Silver as your sec- 
retary,” grumbled Garvington. “However, if it won't 
take long, I don’t mind obliging you.” He followed 
her into the library, and took his seat at the writing 
table. “Who is the letter to?” he demanded, taking 
up a pen in a hurry. 

“To Mr. Jarwin. I want him to find out where 
Gentilla Stanley is. It’s only a formal letter, so write 
it and sign it on my behalf.” 

“Like an infernal secretary,” sighed Garvington, 
taking paper and squaring his elbows. “What do you 
want with old Mother Cockleshell ?” 

“Miss Greeby was here to-day and told me that the 
woman knows something about poor Hubert’s death.” 

Garvington’s pen halted for a moment, but he did 
not look round. “What can she possibly know?” he 
demanded irritably. 

“That’s what I shall find out when Mr. Jarwin dis- 
covers her,” said Agnes, who was in a low chair near 
the fire. “By the way, Freddy, I am sorry you let the 
Abbot’s Wood Cottage to Mr. Silver.” 

“Why shouldn’t I?” growled Garvington, writing 
industriously. “Noel didn’t pay me a pound a week, 
and Silver does.” 


BED MONEY 


217 


“You might have a more respectable tenant,” said 
Agnes scathingly. 

“Who says Silver isn’t respectable?” he asked, look- 
ing round. 

“I do, and I have every reason to say so.” 

“Oh, nonsense !” Garvington began to write again. 
“Silver was Pine’s secretary, and now he’s Miss Gree- 
by’s. They wouldn’t have engaged him unless he was 
respectable, although he did start life as a pauper toy- 
marker. I suppose that is what you mean, Agnes. 
I’m surprised at your narrowness.” 

“Ah, we have not all your tolerance, Freddy. Have 
you finished that letter?”’ 

“There you are.” Garvington handed it over. 
“You don’t want me to address the envelope?” 

“Yes, I do,” Agnes ran her eyes over the missive; 
“and you can add a postscript to this, telling Mr. Jar- 
win he can take my motor to look for Gentilla Stan- 
ley if he chooses.” 

Garvington did as he was asked reluctantly. 
“Though I don’t see why Jarwin can’t supply his own 
motors,” he grumbled, “and ten to one he’ll only put 
an advertisement in the newspapers.” 

“As if Mother Cockleshell ever saw a newspaper,” 
retorted his sister. “Oh, thank you, Freddy, you are 
good,” she went on when he handed her the letter in 
a newly addressed envelope; “no, don’t go, I want to 
speak to you about Mr. Silver.” 

Garvington threw himself with a growl into a chair. 
“I don’t know anything about him except that he’s 
my tenant,” he complained. 

“Then it is time you did. Perhaps you are not 
aware that Mr. Silver tried to blackmail me.” 

“What?” the little man grew purple and exploded. 
“Oh, nonsense!” 

“It’s anything but nonsense.” Agnes rose and 


218 


RED MONEY 


went to her desk to get the forged letter. “He came 
to me a long time before Christmas and said that 
Chaldea found this,” she flourished the letter before 
her brother's eyes, “in Hubert's tent when he was 
masquerading as Hearne.” 

“A letter? What does it say?” Garvington 
stretched out his hand. 

Agnes drew back and returned to her seat by the 
fire. “I can tell you the contents,” she said coolly, “it 
is supposed to be written by me to Noel and makes 
an appointment to meet him at the blue door on the 
night of Hubert's death in order to elope.” 

“Agnes, you never wrote such a letter,” cried 
Garvington, jumping up with a furious red face. 

His sister did not answer for a moment. She had 
taken the letter just written to Jarwin by Garvington 
and was comparing it with that which Miss Greeby 
had extorted from Silver. “No,” she said in a strange 
voice and becoming white, “I never wrote such a 
letter ; but I should be glad to know why you did.” 

“I did?” Garvington retreated and his face became 
as white as that of the woman who confronted him, 
“what the devil do you mean?” 

“I always knew that you were clever at imitating 
handwriting, Freddy,” said Agnes, while the two let- 
ters shook in her grasp, “we used to make a joke of 
it, I remember. But it was no joke when you altered 
that check Hubert gave you, and none when you imi- 
tated his signature to that mortgage about which he 
told me.” 

“I never — I never!” stammered the detected little 
scoundrel, holding on to a chair for support. “I 
never ” 

“Spare me these lies,” interrupted his sister scorn- 
fully, “Hubert showed the mortgage, when it came 
into his possession, to me. He admitted that his sig- 


RED MONEY 


219 


nature was legal to spare you, and also, for my sake, 
hushed up the affair of the check. He warned you 
against playing with fire, Freddy, and now you have 
done so again, to bring about his death.” 

“It’s a damned lie.” 

“It’s a damned truth,” retorted Agnes fiercely. “I 
got you to write the letter to Mr. Jarwin so that I 
might compare the signature to the one in the forged 
letter. Agnes Pine in one and Agnes Pine in the 
other, both with the same twists and twirls — very, 
very like my signature and yet with a difference that 
I alone can detect. The postscript about the motor I 
asked you to write because the word occurs in the 
forged letter. Motor and motor — both the same.” 

“IPs a lie,” denied Garvington again. “I have not 
imitated your handwriting in the letter to Jarwin.” 

“You unconsciously imitated the signature, and you 
have written the word motor the same in both letters,” 
said Agnes decisively. “I suddenly thought of your 
talent for writing like other people when Clara Greeby 
asked me to-day if I could guess who had forged the 
letter. I laid a trap for you and you have fallen into 
it. And you” — she took a step forward with fiery 
glance so that Garvington, retreating, nearly tum- 
bled over a chair — “you laid a trap for Hubert into 
which he fell.” 

“I never did — I never did!” babbled Garvington, 
gray with fear. 

“Yes, you did. I swear to it. Now I understand 
why you threatened to shoot any possible burglar who 
should come to The Manor. You learned, in some 
way, I don’t know how, that Hubert was with the 
gypsies, and, knowing his jealous nature, you wrote 
this letter and let it fall into his hands, so that he 
might risk being shot as a robber and a thief.” 


220 


RED MONEY 


“I — I — I — didn’t shoot him,” panted the man 
brokenly. 

“It was not for the want of trying. You broke his 
arm, and probably would have followed him out to 
inflict a mortal wound if your accomplice in the shrub- 
bery had not been beforehand with you.” 

“Agnes, I swear that I took Pine for a burglar, and 
I don’t know who shot him. Really, I don’t !” 

“You liar!” said Agnes with intense scorn. “When 
you posted your accompl ” 

She had no chance to finish the word, for Garving- 
ton broke in furiously and made a great effort to as- 
sert himself. “I had no accomplice. Who shot Pine 
I don’t know. I never wrote the letter ; I never lured 
him to his death; he was more good to me alive than 
dead. He never ” 

“He was not more good to you alive than dead,” 
interrupted Lady Agnes in her turn. “For Hubert 
despised you for the way in which you tried to trick 
him out of money. He thought you little better than 
a criminal, and only hushed up your wickedness for 
my sake. You would have got no more money out of 
him, and you know that much. By killing him you 
hoped that I would get the fortune and then you 
could plunder me at your leisure. Hubert was hard 
to manage, and you thought that I would be easy. 
Well, I have got the money and you have got rid of 
Hubert. But I shall punish you.” 

“Punish me?” Garvington passed his tongue over 
his dry lips, and looked as though in his terror he 
would go down on his knees to plead. 

“Oh, not by denouncing you to the police,” said his 
sister contemptuously. “For, bad as you are, I have 
to consider our family name. But you had Hubert 
shot so as to get the money through me, and now that 


RED MONEY 


221 


I am in possession I shall surrender it to the person 
named in the sealed envelope.” 

“No! No! No! No! Don’t— don't ” 

“Yes, I shall. I can do so by marrying Noel. I 
shall no longer consider the financial position of the 
family. I have sacrificed enough, and I shall sacrifice 
no more. Hubert was a good husband to me, and I 
was a good and loyal wife to him ; but his will insults 
me, and you have made me your enemy by what you 
have done.” 

“I did not do it. I swear I did not do it.” 

“Yes, you did; and no denial on your part will 
make me believe otherwise. I shall give you a few 
days to think over the necessity of making a confes- 
sion, and in any case I shall marry Noel.” 

“And lose the money. You shan’t !” 

“Shan’t !” Agnes stepped forward and looked 
fairly into his shifty eyes. “You are not in a position 
to say that, Freddy. I am mistress both of the situa- 
tion and of Hubert’s millions. Go away,” she pushed 
him toward the door. “Take time to think over your 
position, and confess everything to me.” 

Garvington got out of the room as swiftly as his 
shaky legs could carry him, and paused at the door to 
turn with a very evil face. “You daren’t split on me,” 
he screeched. “I defy you ! I defy you ! You daren’t 
split on me.” 

Alas ! Agnes knew that only too well, and when he 
disappeared she wept bitterly, feeling her impotence. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


THE LAST STRAW. 

Lady Agnes was inaccurate when she informed Miss 
Greeby that her cousin had taken a house in Ken- 
sington, since, like many women, she was accustomed 
to speak in general terms, rather than in a precise 
way. The young man certainly did live in the sub- 
urb she mentioned, but he had simply rented a fur- 
nished flat in one of the cheaper streets. He was the 
poorest of all the Lamberts, and could scarcely pay his 
club subscriptions, much less live in the style his an- 
cient name demanded. The St. James’s chambers had 
merely been lent to him by a friend, and when the 
owner returned, the temporary occupant had to shift. 
Therefore, on the score of economy, he hired the 
dingy flat and brought up Mrs. Tribb to look after 
it. The little woman, on her master’s account, was 
disgusted with the mean surroundings. 

“When you ought to be living in a kind of Buck- 
ingham Palace, Master Noel, as I should declare 
with my dying breath,” she said indignantly. “And 
have the title, too, if things was as they ought to 
be.” 

“I shouldn’t be much better off if I did have the 
title, Mrs. Tribb,” replied Lambert with a shrug. 
“It’s common knowledge that Garvington can scarcely 
keep his head above water. As an old family servant 
you should know.” 

“Ah, Master Noel, there’s many things as I know, 

222 


RED MONEY 


223 


as I’m sorry I do know,” said Mrs. Tribb incoher- 
ently. “And them lords as is dead and buried did 
waste the money, there’s no denying. But some of 
your cousins, Master Noel, have gone into trade and 
made money, more shame to them.” 

“I don’t see that, Mrs. Tribb. I’d go into trade 
myself if I had any head for figures. There’s no dis- 
grace in trade.” 

“Not for them as isn’t Lamberts, Master Noel, and 
far be it from me to say so, gentry not being so rich 
as they used to be when my mother was a gal. I 
don’t hold with it though for you, sir. But now Lady 
Agnes having millions and billions will make things 
easier for you.” 

“Certainly not,' Mrs. Tribb. How could I take 
money from her?” 

“And why not, Master Noel? if you’ll excuse my 
making so free. As a child she’d give you anything 
in the way of toys, and as a grown-up, her head is 
yours if not her heart, as is ” 

“There ! there ! Don’t talk any more,” said Lam- 
bert, coloring and vexed. 

“I haven’t annoyed you, sir, I hope. It’s my heart 
as speaks.” 

“I appreciate the interest you take in the family, 
Mrs. Tribb, but you had better leave some things un- 
said. Now, go and prepare tea, as Lady Agnes has 
written saying she will be here this afternoon.” 

“Oh, Master Noel, and you only tell me now. Then 
there ain’t time to cook them cakes she dotes on.” 

But Lambert declined to argue further, and Mrs. 
Tribb withdrew, murmuring that she would have to 
make shift with sardine sandwiches. Her tongue was 
assuredly something of a nuisance, but the young man 
knew how devoted she was to the family, and, since 
she had looked after him when he was a child, he 


224 


RED MONEY 


sanctioned in her a freedom he would not have per- 
mitted any one else to indulge in. And it is to be 
feared, that the little woman in her zeal sometimes 
abused her privileges. 

The sitting room was small and cramped, and atro- 
ciously furnished in an overcrowded way. There were 
patterns on the wall-paper, on the carpet, on the table- 
cloth and curtains, until the eye ached for a clean sur- 
face without a design. And there were so many ill- 
matched colors, misused for decorative purposes, that 
Lambert shuddered to the core of his artistic soul 
when he beheld them. To neutralize the glaring tints, 
he pulled down the blinds of the two windows which 
looked on to a dull suburban roadway, and thus shut 
out the weak sunshine. Then he threw himself into 
an uncomfortable armchair and sought solace in his 
briar root. The future was dark, the present was dis- 
agreeable, and the past would not bear thinking about, 
so intimately did it deal with the murder of Pine, the 
threats of Silver, and the misery occasioned by the 
sacrifice of Agnes to the family fetish. It was in the 
young man’s mind to leave England forthwith and 
begin a new life, unhampered by former troubles 
and present grievances. But Agnes required help and 
could not be left to struggle unaided, so Lambert si- 
lently vowed again, as he had vowed before, to stand 
by her to the end. Yet so far he was unable to see 
what the end would be. 

While he thus contemplated the unpleasantness of 
life he became aware that the front door bell was 
ringing, and he heard Mrs. Tribb hurrying along the 
passage. So thin were the walls, and so near the 
door that he heard also the housekeeper’s effusive 
welcome, which was cut short by a gasp of surprise. 
Lambert idly wondered what caused the little woman’s 
astonishment, but speedily learned when Agnes ap- 


RED MONEY 


225 


peared in the room. With rare discretion Mrs. Tribb 
ushered in the visitor and then fled to the kitchen to 
wonder why the widow had discarded her mourning. 
“And him only planted six months, as you might 
say,” murmured the puzzled woman. “Whatever will 
Master Noel say to such goings on?” 

Master Noel said nothing, because he was too as- 
tonished to speak, and Agnes, seeing his surprise, and 
guessing its cause, waited, somewhat defiantly, for 
him to make an observation. She was dressed in a 
gray silk frock, with a hat and gloves, and shoes to 
match, and drew off a fur-lined cloak of maroon- 
colored velvet, when she entered the room. Her face 
was somewhat pale and her eyes looked unnaturally 
large, but she had a resolute expression about her 
mouth, which showed that she had made up her mind. 
Lambert, Swift, from long association, to read her 
moods, wondered what conclusion she had arrived at, 
and proceeded to inquire. 

“Whatever is the meaning of this?” he demanded, 
considerably startled. 

“This dress?” 

“Of course. Where is your widow’s cap and ” 

“In the fire, and there they can remain until they 
are burned to ashes.” 

Lambert stared harder than ever. “What does it 
mean?” he asked again. 

“It means,” said Agnes, replying very directly, 
“that the victim is no longer decked out for the sacri- 
fice. It means, that as Hubert insulted me by his will, 
I no longer intend to consider his memory.” 

“But, Agnes, you respected him. You always said 
that you did?” 

“Quite so, until his will was read. Then when I 
found that his mean jealousy — which was entirely un- 
reasonable — had arranged to rob me of my income by 


226 


RED MONEY 


preventing my marriage with you, I ceased to have 
any regard for him. Hubert knew that I loved you, 
and was content to take me on those terms so long as 
I was loyal to him. I was loyal, and did what I could 
to show him gratitude for the way in which he helped 
the family. Now his will has broken the bargain I 
respect him no longer, and for that reason I refuse to 
pose any longer as a grieving widow.” 

“I wonder, with these thoughts, that you posed at 
all,” said Lambert gloomily, and pushed forward a 
chair. 

“I could not make up my mind until lately what to 
do,” explained Agnes, sitting down gracefully, “and 
while I accepted his money it appeared to me that I 
ought to show his memory the outward respect of 
crape and all the rest of it. Now,” she leaned for- 
ward and spoke meaningly, “I am resolved to surren- 
der the money. That breaks the link between us. 
The will ! the will !” she tapped an impatient foot on 
the carpet. “How could you expect any woman to put 
up with such an insult?” 

Lambert dropped on the sofa and looked at her 
hard. “What’s up?” he asked anxiously. “I never 
saw you like this before.” 

“I was not free when you last saw me,” she re- 
plied dryly. 

“Oh, yes ; you were a widow.” 

“I mean free, in my own mind, to marry you. I 
am now. I don’t intend to consider the family or so- 
ciety, or Mr. Silver’s threats, or anything else. I have 
shaken off my fetters; I have discarded my ring.” 
She violently pulled off her glove to show that the 
circle of gold was absent. “I am free, and I thank 
God that I am free.” 

“Agnes ! Agnes ! I can’t reduce you to poverty by 
marrying you. It would not be honorable of me.” 


RED MONEY 


227 


“And would it be honorable on my part for me to 
keep the money of a man I despise because his will 
insults me?” she retorted. 

“We argued all this before.” 

“Yes, we did, and concluded to wait until we saw 
how the estates could be freed before we came to any 
conclusion.” 

“And do you see now how the estates can be freed 
without using Pine’s money, Agnes?” asked Lambert 
anxiously. 

“No. Things are ever so much worse than I 
thought. Garvington can hold out for another year, 
but at the end of twelve months the estates will be 
sold up by the person whose name is in the sealed en- 
velope, and he will be reduced to some hundreds a 
year. The Lamberts!” she waved her arm dramat- 
ically, “are ruined, my dear ; entirely ruined !” 

“And for the simple reason that you wish us to 
place love before duty.” 

Agnes leaned forward and took his hand firmly. 
“Noel, you love me ?” 

“Of course I do.” 

“Do you love the family name better ?” 

“In one way I wish to save it, in another I am will- 
ing to let it go hang.” 

“Yes. Those were my views until three or four 
days ago.” 

“And what caused you to change your mind, dear ?” 

“A visit which Clara Greeby paid me.” 

“Oh.” Lambert sat up very straight. “She hasn’t 
been making mischief, has she ?” 

“Not at all. On the contrary, she has done both of 
us a great service.” 

Lambert nodded thankfully. He felt doubtful as to 
whether Miss Greeby really had meant to renounce 
her absurd passion for himself, and it was a relief 


228 


RED MONEY 


to find that she had been acting honestly. “Has she 
then learned who killed Pine ?” he asked cautiously. 

Lady Agnes suddenly rose and began to pace the 
room, twisting her gloves and trying to control her- 
self. Usually she was so composed that Lambert 
wondered at this restlessness. He wondered still 
more when she burst into violent tears, and therefore 
hastened to draw her back to the chair. When she 
was seated he knelt beside her and passed his arm 
round her neck, as distressed as she was. It was so 
unlike Agnes to break down in this way, and more 
unlike her to sob brokenly. “Oh, Fm afraid — I’m 
afraid.” 

“Afraid of what, darling?” 

“I’m afraid to learn who killed my husband. He 
might have done so, and yet he only fired the first 
shot ” 

“Agnes,” Lambert rose up suddenly, “are you talk- 
ing of Garvington?” 

“Yes.” She leaned back and dried her tears. “In 
spite of what he says, I am afraid he may be guilty.” 

Lambert’s heart seemed to stand still. “You talk 
rubbish !” he cried angrily. 

“I wish it was. Oh, how I wish it was rubbish! 
But I can’t be sure. Of course, he may have meant 
what he says ” 

“What does he say? Tell me everything. Oh, 
heavens !” Lambert clutched his smooth hair. “What 
does it all mean?” 

“Ruin to the Lambert family. I told you so.” 

“You have only told me scraps so far. I don’t un- 
derstand how you can arrive at the conclusion that 
Garvington is guilty. Agnes, don’t go on crying in so 
unnecessary a way. If things have to be faced, surely 
we are strong enough to face them. Don’t let our 
emotions make fools of us. Stop it! Stop it!” he 


BED MONEY 


229 


said sharply and stamping. “Dry your eyes and ex- 
plain matters.” 

“I — I can’t help my feelings,” faltered Agnes, be- 
ginning to respond to the spur, and becoming calmer. 

“Yes, you can. I don’t offer you brandy or smell- 
ing salts, or anything of the sort, because I know you 
to be a woman with a firm mind. Exert your will, 
and compel your nerves to be calm. This exhibition is 
too cheap.” 

“Oh,” cried Agnes indignantly, and this feeling was 
the one Lambert wished to arouse, “how can you 
talk so?” 

“Because I love you and respect you,” he retorted. 

She knew that he meant what he said, and that her 
firmness of mind and self-control had always appealed 
to him, therefore she made a great effort and sub- 
dued her unruly nerves. Lambert gave her no assist- 
ance, and merely walked up and down the room while 
waiting for her to recover. It was not easy for her to 
be herself immediately, as she really was shaken, and 
privately considered that he expected too much. But 
pride came to her aid, and she gradually became more 
composed. Meanwhile Lambert pulled up the blind 
to display the ugly room in all its deformity, and the 
sight — as he guessed it would — extorted an exclama- 
tion from her. 

“Oh, how can you live in this horrid place?” she 
asked irrelevantly. 

“Necessity knows no law. Are you better?” 

“Yes ; I am all right. But you are brutal, Noel.” 

“I wouldn’t have been brutal to a weaker woman,” 
he answered. “And by acting as I have done, I show 
how much I think of you.” 

“Rather a strange way of showing approval. But 
your drastic methods have triumphed. I am quite 
composed, and shall tell you of our disgrace in as un- 


230 


RED MONEY 


emotional a manner as if I were reckoning pounds, 
shillings and pence.” 

“Disgrace?” Lambert fastened on the one word 
anxiously. “To us?” 

“To Garvington in the first place. But sit down and 
listen. I shall tell you everything, from the moment 
Clara came to see me.” 

Lambert nodded and resumed his seat. Agnes, with 
wonderful coolness, detailed Miss Greeby’s visit and 
production of the letter. Thence she passed on to ex- 
plain how she had tricked Garvington into confession. 
“But he did not confess,” interrupted Lambert at this 
point. 

“Not at the moment. He did yesterday in a letter 
to me. You see, he left my house immediately and 
slept at his club. Then he went down to The Manor 
and sent for Jane, who, by the way, knows nothing 
of what I have explained. Here are two letters,” 
added Agnes, taking an envelope out of her pocket. 
“One is the forged one, and the other came from Gar- 
vington yesterday. Even though he is not imitating 
my writing, you can see every now and then the simi- 
larity. Perhaps there is a family resemblance in our 
caligraphy.” Her cousin examined the two epistles 
with a rather scared look, for there was no doubt that 
things looked black against the head of the family. 
However, he did not read Garvington’s letter, but 
asked Agnes to explain. “What excuse does he make 
for forging your name?” asked Lambert in a busi- 
ness-like way, for there was no need to rage over such 
a worm as Freddy. 

“A very weak one,” she replied. “So weak that I 
scarcely believe him to be in earnest. Besides, Freddy 
always was a liar. He declares that when he went 
to see about getting the gypsies turned off the land, 
he caught sight of Hubert. Lie did not speak to 


RED MONEY 


231 


him, but learned the truth from Mr. Silver, whom he 
forced to speak. Then he wrote the letter and let it 
purposely fall into Mr. Silver’s hands, and by Mr. 
Silver it was passed on to Hubert. Freddy writes that 
he only wanted to hurt Hubert so that he might be 
laid up in bed at The Manor. When he was weak — 
Hubert, I mean — Freddy then intended to get all the 
money he could out of him.” 

“He did not wish to kill Pine, then ?” 

“No. And all the evidence goes to show that he 
only broke Hubert’s arm.” 

“That is true,” murmured Lambert thoughtfully, 
“for the evidence of the other guests and of the serv- 
ants showed plainly at the inquest that the second shot 
was fired outside while Garvington was indoors.” 

Agnes nodded. “Yes; it really seems as though 
Freddy for once in his life is telling the exact truth.” 

Her cousin glanced at Garvington’s lengthy letter 
of explanation. “Do you really believe that he hoped 
to manage Pine during the illness?” 

“Well,” said Agnes reluctantly, “Freddy has tre- 
mendous faith in his powers of persuasion. Hubert 
would do nothing more for him since he was such a 
cormorant for money. But if Hubert had been laid 
up with a broken arm, it is just possible that he might 
have been worried into doing what Freddy wanted, if 
only to get rid of his importunity.” 

“Hum ! It sounds weak. Garvington certainly 
winged Pine, so that seems to corroborate the state- 
ment in this letter. He’s such a good shot that he 
could easily have killed Pine if he wanted to.” 

“Then you don’t think that Freddy is responsible 
for the death ?” inquired Agnes with a look of relief. 

Lambert appeared worried. “I think not, dear. He 
lured Hubert into his own private trap so as to get 
him laid up and extort money. Unfortunately, an- 


232 


RED MONEY 


other person, aware of the trap, waited outside and 
killed your poor husband.” 

“According to what Freddy says, Mr. Silver knew 
of the trap, since he delivered the letter to Hubert. 
And Mr. Silver knew that Freddy had threatened to 
shoot any possible burglar. It seems to me,” ended 
Agnes deliberately, “that Mr. Silver is guilty.” 

“But why should he shoot Pine, to whom he owed 
so much?” 

“I can’t say.” 

“And, remember, Silver was inside the house.” 

“Yes,” assented Lady Agnes, in dismay. “That is 
true. It is a great puzzle, Noel. However, I am not 
trying to solve it. Clara says that Mr. Silver will 
hold his tongue, and certainly as the letter is now in 
my possession he cannot bring forward any evidence 
to show that I am inculpated in the matter. I think 
the best thing to do is to let Freddy and Mr. Silver 
fight out the matter between them, while we are on 
our honeymoon.” 

Lambert started. “Agnes ! What do you mean ?” 

She grew impatient. “Oh, what is the use of ask- 
ing what I mean when you know quite well, Noel? 
Hubert insulted me in his will, and cast a slur on 
my character by forbidding me to marry you. Freddy 
— although he did not fire the second shot — certainly 
lured Hubert to his death by forging that letter. I 
don’t intend to consider my husband’s memory any 
more, nor my brother’s position. I shall never speak 
to him again if I can help it, as he is a wicked little 
animal. I have sacrificed myself sufficiently, and now 
I intend to take my own way. Let the millions go, 
and let Freddy be ruined, if only to punish him for his 
wickedness.” 

“But, dear, how can I ask you to share my pov- 
erty?” said Lambert, greatly distressed. “I have only 


RED MONEY 


283 


five hundred a year, and you have been accustomed 
to such luxury.” 

“I have another five hundred a year of my own,” 
said Agnes obstinately, “which Hubert settled on me 
for pin money. He refused to make any other settle- 
ments. I have a right to that money, since I sacrificed 
so much, and I shall keep it. Surely we can live on 
one thousand a year.” 

“In England?” inquired Lambert doubtfully. “And 
after you have led such a luxurious life ?” 

“No,” she said quickly. “I mean in the Colonies. 
Let us go to Australia, or Canada, or South Africa, 
I don’t care which, and cut ourselves off from the 
past. We have suffered enough; let us now think of 
ourselves.” 

“But are we not selfish to let the family name be 
disgraced ?” 

“Freddy is selfish, and will disgrace it in any case,” 
said Agnes, with a contemptuous shrug. “What’s the 
use of pulling him out of the mud, when he will only 
sink back into it again? No, Noel, if you love me 
you will marry me within the week.” 

“But it’s so sudden, dear,” he urged, more and more 
distressed. “Take time to consider. How can I rob 
you of millions?” 

“You won’t rob me. If you refuse, I shall make 
over the money to some charity, and live on my five 
hundred a year. Remember, Noel, what people think 
of me: that I married Hubert to get his money and 
to become your wife when he died, so that we could 
live on his wealth. We can only prove that belief to 
be false by surrendering the millions and marrying as 
paupers.” 

“You may be right, and yet ” 

“And yet, and yet — oh,” she cried, wounded, “you 
don’t love me.” 


234 


BED MONEY 


The man did not answer, but stood looking at her 
with all his soul in his eyes, and shaking from head to 
foot. Never before had she looked so desirable, and 
never before had he felt the tides of love surge to so 
high a water-mark. “Love you !” he said in a hoarse 
voice. “Agnes, I would give my soul for you.” 

“Then give it.” She wreathed her arms round his 
neck and whispered with her warm lips close to his 
ear, “Give me all of you.” 

“But two millions ” 

“You are worth it.” 

“Darling, you will repent.” 

“Repent!” She pressed him closer to her. “Re- 
pent that I exchange a lonely life for companionship 
with you ? Oh, my dear, how can you think so ? I am 
sick of money and sick of loneliness. I want you, you, 
you ! Noel, Noel, it is your part to woo, and here am 
I making all the love.” 

“It is such a serious step for you to take.” 

“It is the only step that I can take. I am known 
as a mercenary woman, and until we marry and give 
up the money, everybody will think scornfully of me. 
Besides, Freddy must be punished, and in no other 
way can I make him suffer so much as by depriving 
him of the wealth he sinned to obtain.” 

“Yes. There is that view, certainly. And,” Lam- 
bert gasped, “I love you — oh, never doubt that, my 
darling.” 

“I shall,” she whispered ardently, “unless you get 
a special license and marry me staightaway.” 

“But Garvington and Silver ” 

“And Clara Greeby and Chaldea, who both love 
you,” she mocked. “Let them all fight out their 
troubles alone. I have had enough suffering; so have 
you. So there’s no more to be said. Now, sir,” she 


RED MONEY 


23 5 


added playfully, “wilt thou take this woman to be thy 
wedded wife?” 

“Yes,” he said, opening his arms and gathering 
Agnes to his heart. “But what will people say of your 
marrying so soon after Pine’s death?” 

“Let them say what they like and do what they 
like. We are going to the Colonies and will be be- 
yond reach of slanderous tongues. Now, let us have 
tea, Noel, for I am hungry and thirsty, and quite tired 
out with trying to convince you of my earnestness.” 

Lambert rang for the tea. “Shall we tell Jarwin 
that we intend to marry ?” 

“No. We shall tell no one until we are married,” 
she replied, and kissed him once, twice, thrice, and 
again, until Mrs. Tribb entered with the tray. Then 
they both sat demurely at the first of many meals 
which they hoped would be the start of a new Darby 
and Joan existence. 

And the outcome of the interview and of the de- 
cision that was arrived at appeared in a letter to Mr. 
Jarwin, of Chancery Lane. A week later he received 
a communication signed by Agnes Lambert, in which 
she stated that on the preceding day she had married 
her cousin by special license. Mr. Jarwin had to read 
the epistle twice before he could grasp the astounding 
fact that the woman had paid two millions for a hus- 
band. 

“She’s mad, crazy, silly, insane,” murmured the law- 
yer, then his eyes lighted up with curiosity. “Now I 
shall know the name of the person in the sealed letter 
who inherits,” and he forthwith proceeded to his safe. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


ON THE TRAIL. 

Great was the excitement in society when it became 
known — through the medium of a newspaper para- 
graph — that Lady Agnes Pine had surrendered two 
millions sterling to become Mrs. Noel Lambert. Some 
romantic people praised her as a noble woman, who 
placed love above mere money, while others loudly 
declared her to be a superlative fool. But one and all 
agreed that she must have loved her cousin all the 
time, and that clearly the marriage with the deceased 
millionaire had been forced on by Garvington, for 
family reasons connected with the poverty of the 
Lamberts. It was believed that the fat little egotist 
had obtained his price for selling his sister, and that 
his estates had been freed from all claims through the 
generosity of Pine. Of course, this was not the case ; 
but the fact was unknown to the general public, and 
Garvington was credited with an income which he did 
not possess. 

The man himself was furious at having been 
tricked. He put it in this way, quite oblivious to his 
own actions, which had brought about such a result. 
He could not plead ignorance on this score, as Agnes 
had written him a letter announcing her marriage, and 
plainly stating her reasons for giving up her late hus- 
band’s fortune. She ironically advised him to seek out 
the person to whom the money would pass, and to see 
if he could not plunder that individual. Garvington, 
236 


RED MONEY 


237 


angry as he was, took the advice seriously, and sought 
out Jarwin. But that astute individual declined to 
satisfy his curiosity, guessing what use he would 
make of the information. In due time, as the solicitor 
said, the name of the lucky legatee would be made 
public, and with this assurance Garvington was 
obliged to be content. 

Meanwhile the happy pair — and they truly were ex- 
tremely happy — heard nothing of the chatter, and were 
indifferent to either praise or blame. They were all 
in all to one another, and lived in a kind of Paradise, 
on the south coast of Devonshire. On one of his 
sketching tours Lambert had discovered a picturesque 
old-world village, tucked away in a fold of the moor- 
lands, and hither he brought his wife for the golden 
hours of the honeymoon. They lived at the small inn 
and were attended to by a gigantic landlady, who 
made them very comfortable. Mrs. “Anak,” as Noel 
called her, took the young couple for poor but artistic 
people, since Agnes had dropped her title, as unsuited 
to her now humble position. 

“And in the Colonies/’ she explained to her hus- 
band, during a moorland ramble, “it would be absurd 
for me to be called ‘my lady/ Mrs. Noel Lambert 
is good enough for me.” 

“Quite so, dear, if we ever do go to the Colonies.” 

“We must, Noel, as we have so little to live on.” 

“Oh, one thousand a year isn’t so bad,” he an- 
swered good-humoredly. “It may seem poverty to 
you, who have been used to millions, my darling ; but 
all my life I have been hard up, and I am thankful 
for twenty pounds a week.” 

“You speak as though I had been wealthy all my 
life, Noel. But remember that I was as hard up as 
you before I married Hubert, poor soul.” 

“Then, dear, you must appreciate the fact that we 


238 


RED MONEY 


can never starve. Besides I hope to make a name as 
a painter.” 

“In the Colonies?” 

“Why not ? Art is to be found there as in England. 
Change of scene does not destroy any talent one may 
possess. But I am not so sure, darling, if it is wise to 
leave England — at least until we learn who murdered 
Pine.” 

“Oh, my dear, do let us leave that vexed question 
alone. The truth will never become known.” 

“It must become known, Agnes,” said Lambert 
firmly. “Remember that Silver and Chaldea practi- 
cally accuse us of murdering your husband.” 

“They know it is a lie, and won’t proceed further,” 
said Agnes hopefully. 

“Oh, yes, they will, and Miss Greeby also.” 

“Clara! Why, she is on our side.” 

“Indeed she is not. Your guess that she was still 
in love with me turns out to be quite correct. I re- 
ceived a letter from her this morning, which was for- 
warded from Kensington. She reproaches me with 
marrying you after the trouble she took in getting 
the forged letter back from Silver.” 

“But you told me that she said she would help you 
as a friend.” 

“She did so, in order — to use an expressive phrase — 
to pull the wool over my eyes. But she intended — 
and she puts her intention plainly in her letter — to 
help me in order to secure my gratitude, and then she 
counted upon my making her my wife.” 

Agnes flushed. “I might have guessed that she 
would act in that way. When you told me that she 
was helping I had a suspicion what she was aiming at. 
What else does she say ?” 

“Oh, all manner of things, more or less silly. She 
hints that I have acted meanly in causing you to for- 


RED MONEY 


239 


feit two millions, and says that no man of honor 
would act in such a way.” 

“I see,” said Mrs. Lambert coolly. “She believed 
that my possession of the money would be even a 
greater barrier to our coming together than the fact 
of my being married to Hubert. Well, dear, what 
does it matter?” 

“A great deal, Agnes,” replied Noel, wrinkling his 
brows. “She intends to make mischief, and she can, 
with the aid of Silver, who is naturally furious at 
having lost his chance of blackmail. Then there’s 
Chaldea ” 

“She can do nothing.” 

“She can join forces with Miss Greeby and the 
secretary, and they will do their best to get us into 
trouble. To defend ourselves we should have to ex- 
plain that Garvington wrote the letter, and then 
heaven only knows what disgrace would befall the 
name.” 

“But you don’t believe that Freddy is guilty?” 
asked Agnes anxiously. 

“Oh, no. Still, he wrote that letter which lured 
Pine to his death, and if such a mean act became 
known, he would be disgraced forever.” 

“Freddy has such criminal instincts,” said Mrs. 
Lambert gloomily, “that I am quite sure he will sooner 
or later stand in the dock.” 

“We must keep him out of it as long as we can,” 
said Noel decisively. “For that reason I intend to 
leave you here and go to Garvington.” 

“To see Freddy?” 

“Yes, and to see Chaldea, and to call on Silver, 
who is living in my old cottage. Also I wish to have 
a conversation with Miss Greeby. In some way, my 
dear, I must settle these people, or they will make 


240 BED MONEY 


trouble. Have you noticed, Agnes, what a number 
of gypsies seem to cross our path?” 

“Yes; but there are many gypsies in Devonshire.” 

“No doubt, but many gypsies do not come to this 
retired spot as a rule, and yet they seem to swarm. 
Chaldea is having us watched.” 

“For what reason?” Agnes opened her astonished 
eyes. 

“I wish to learn. Chaldea is now a queen, and evi- 
dently has sent instructions to her kinsfolk in this 
county to keep an eye on us.” 

Agnes ruminated for a few minutes. “I met 
Mother Cockleshell yesterday,” she observed; “but I 
thought nothing of it, as she belongs to Devonshire.” 

“I believe Mother Cockleshell is on our side, dear, 
since she is so grateful to you for looking after her 
when she was sick. But Kara has been hovering 
about, and we know that he is Chaldea’s lover.” 

“Then,” said Mrs. Lambert, rising from the 
heather on which they had seated themselves, “it will 
be best to face Mother Cockleshell and Kara in order 
to learn what all this spying means.” 

Lambert approved of this suggestion, and the two 
returned to Mrs. “Anak’s” abode to watch for the 
gypsies. But, although they saw two or three, or even 
more during the next few days, they did not set 
eyes on the Servian dwarf, or on Gentilla Stanley. 
Then — since it never rains but it pours — the two came 
together to the inn. Agnes saw them through the sit- 
ting-room window, and walked out boldly to confront 
them. Noel was absent at the moment, so she had to 
conduct the examination entirely alone. 

“Gentilla, why are you spying on me and my hus- 
band?” asked Agnes abruptly. 

The respectable woman dropped a curtsey and 
clutched the shoulder of Kara, who showed a disposi- 


RED MONEY 


241 


tion to run away. ‘Tm no spy, my angel,” said the 
old creature with a cunning glint in her eyes. “It’s 
this one who keeps watch.” 

“For what reason?” 

“Bless you, my lady ” 

“Don’t call me by my title. I’ve dropped it.” 

“Only for a time, my dear. I have read your for- 
tune in the stars, my Gorgio one, and higher you will 
be with money and rank than ever you have been in 
past days. But not with the child’s approval.” 

“The child. What child?” 

“Chaldea, no less. She’s raging mad, as the golden 
rye has made you his romi, my sweet one, and she 
has set many besides Kara to overlook you.” 

“So Mr. Lambert and I thought. And Chaldea’s 
reason ?” 

“She would make trouble,” replied Mother Cockle- 
shell mysteriously. “But Kara does not wish her to 
love the golden rye — as she still does — since he would 
have the child to himself.” She turned and spoke rap- 
idly in Romany to the small man in the faded green 
coat. 

Kara listened with twinkling eyes, and pulling at his 
heavy beard with one hand, while he held the neck of 
his violin with the other. When Mother Cockleshell 
ceased he poured out a flood of the kalo jib with much 
gesticulation, and in a voice which boomed like a 
gong. Of course, Mrs. Lambert did not understand 
a word of his speech, and looked inquiringly at Gen- 
tilla. 

“Kara says,” translated the woman hurriedly, 
“that he is your friend, since he is glad you are the 
golden rye’s romi. Ever since you left Lundra the 
child has set him and others to spy on you. She 
makes mischief, does the child in her witchly way.” 


242 


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“Ask him,” said Agnes, indicating the dwarf, ‘ if 
he knows who murdered my late husband ?” 

Gentilla asked the question and translated the reply. 
“He knows nothing, but the child knows much. I go 
back to the wood in Hengishire, my dear, to bring 
about much that will astonish Chaldea — curses on her 
evil heart. Tell the rye to meet me at his old cottage 
in a week. Then the wrong will be made right,” 
ended Mother Cockleshell, speaking quite in the style 
of Meg Merrilees, and very grandiloquently. “And 
happiness will be yours. By this and this I bless you, 
my precious lady,” making several mystical signs, she 
turned away, forcing the reluctant Kara to follow her. 

“But, Gentilla?” Agnes hurried in pursuit. 

“No! no, my Gorgious. It is not the time. Seven 
days, and seven hours, and seven minutes will hear 
the striking of the moment. Sarishan, my deary.” 

Mother Cockleshell hobbled away with surprising 
alacrity, and Mrs. Lambert returned thoughtfully to 
the inn. Evidently the old woman knew of some- 
thing which would solve the mystery, else she would 
scarcely have asked Noel to meet her in Hengishire. 
And being an enemy to Chaldea, who had deposed 
her, Agnes was quite sure that Gentilla would work 
her hardest to thwart the younger gypsy's plans. It 
flashed across her mind that Chaldea herself might 
have murdered Pine. But since his death would have 
removed the barrier between Lambert and herself, 
Agnes could not believe that Chaldea was guilty. 
The affair seemed to become more involved every 
time it was looked into. 

However, Mrs. Lambert related to her husband 
that same evening all that had taken place, and duly 
delivered the old gypsy’s message. Noel listened 
quietly and nodded. He made up his mind to keep 
the appointment in Abbot’s Wood the moment he re- 


RED MONEY 


243 


ceived the intelligence. “And you can stay here, 
Agnes,” he said. 

“No, no,” she pleaded. “I wish to be beside you.” 

“There may be danger, my dear. Chaldea will not 
stick at a trifle to revenge herself, you know.” 

“All the more reason that I should be with you,” 
insisted Agnes. “Besides, these wretches are plot- 
ting against me as much as against you, so it is only 
fair that I should be on the spot to defend myself.” 

“You have a husband to defend you now, Agnes. 
Still, as I know you will be anxious if I leave you in 
this out-of-the-way place, it will be best for us both 
to go to London. There is a telephone at Wanbury, 
and I can communicate with you at once should it be 
necessary.” 

“Of course it will be necessary,” said Mrs. Lambert 
with fond impatience. “I shall worry dreadfully to 
think that you are in danger. I don’t wish to lose you 
now that we are together.” 

“You can depend upon my keeping out of danger, 
for your sake, dear,” said the young man, caressing 
her. “Moreover, Mother Cockleshell will look after 
me should Chaldea try any of her Romany tricks. 
Stay in town, darling.” 

“Oh, dear me, that flat is so dingy, and lonely, and 
disagreeable.” 

“You shan’t remain at the flat. There’s, a very 
pleasant hotel near Hyde Park where we can put up.” 

“It’s so expensive.” 

“Never mind the expense, just now. When every- 
thing is square we can consider economy. But I shall 
not be easy in my mind until poor Pine’s murderer is 
in custody.” 

“I only hope Garvington won’t be found to be an 
accomplice,” said Agnes, with a shiver. “Bad as he 
is, I can’t help remembering that he is my brother.” 


244 


RED MONEY 


“And the head of the Lamberts,” added her hus- 
band gravely. “You may be sure that I shall try and 
save the name from disgrace.” 

“It’s a dismal ending to our honeymoon/’ 

“Let us look upon it as the last hedge of trouble 
which has to be jumped.” 

Agnes laughed at this quaint way of putting things, 
and cheered up. For the next few days they did their 
best to enjoy to the full the golden hours of love, and 
peace which remained, and then departed, to the un- 
feigned regret of Mrs. “Anak.” But present pleasure 
meant future trouble, so the happy pair — and they 
were happy in spite of the lowering clouds — were 
forced to leave their temporary paradise in order to 
baffle their enemies. Miss Greeby, Chaldea, Silver, 
and perhaps Garvington, were all arrayed against 
them, so a conflict could not possibly be avoided. 

Agnes took up her abode in the private hotel near 
the Park which Lambert had referred to, and was 
very comfortable, although she did not enjoy that 
luxury with which Pine’s care had formerly sur- 
rounded her. Having seen that she had all she re- 
quired, Noel took the train to Wanbury, and thence 
drove in a hired fly to Garvington, where he put up at 
the village inn. It was late at night when he arrived, 
so it might have been expected that few would have 
noted his coming. This was true, but among the few 
was Chaldea, who still camped with her tribe in Ab- 
bot’s Wood. Whosoever now owned the property on 
mortgage, evidently did not desire to send the gypsies 
packing, and, of course, Garvington, not having the 
power, could not do so. 

Thus it happened that while Lambert was break- 
fasting next morning, somewhere about ten o’clock, 
word was brought to him by the landlady that a gypsy 
wished to see him. The young man at once thought 


RED MONEY 


245 


that Mother Cockleshell had called to adjust the sit- 
uation, and gave orders that she should be admitted. 
He was startled and ill-pleased when Chaldea made 
her appearance. She looked as handsome as ever, but 
her face wore a sullen, vicious look, which augured 
ill for a peaceful interview. 

“So you cheated me after all, rye?” was her greet- 
ing, and her eyes sparkled with anger at the sight of 
the man she had lost. 

“Don’t be a fool, girl,” said Lambert, purposely 
rough, for her persistence irritated him. “You know 
that I never loved you.” 

“Am I so ugly then?” demanded the girl bitterly. 

“That remark is beside the point,” said the man 
coldly. “And I am not going to discuss such things 
with you. But I should like to know why you set 
spies on me when I was in Devonshire ?” 

Chaldea’s eyes sparkled still more, and she taunted 
him. “Oh, the clever one that you are, to know that 
I had you watched. Aye, and I did, my rye. From 
the time you left the cottage you were under the looks 
of my people.” 

“Why, may I ask?” 

“Because I want revenge,” cried Chaldea, stepping 
forward and striking so hard a blow on the table that 
the dishes jumped. “You scorned me, and now you 
shall pay for that scorn.” 

“Don’t be melodramatic, please. What can you do 
to harm me, I should like to know, you silly crea- 
ture ?” 

“I can prove that you murdered my brother 
Hearne.” 

“Oh, can you, and in what way?” 

“I have the bullet which killed him,” said the 
gypsy, speaking very fast so as to prevent interrup- 
tion. “Kara knifed it out of the tree-trunk which 


246 


RED MONEY 


grows near the shrubbery. If I take it to the police 
and it fits your pistol, then where will you be, my 
precious cheat ?” 

Lambert looked at her thoughtfully. If she really 
did possess the bullet he would be able to learn if 
Garvington had fired the second shot, since it would 
fit the barrel of his revolver. So far as he was con- 
cerned, when coming to live in the Abbot’s Wood 
Cottage, he had left all his weapons stored in London, 
and would be able to prove that such was the case. 
He did not fear for himself, as Chaldea’s malice could 
not hurt him in this way, but he wondered if it would 
be wise to take her to The Manor, where Garvington 
was in residence, in order to test the fitting of the 
bullet. Finally, he decided to risk doing so, as in this 
way he might be able to force the girl’s hand and 
learn how much she really knew. If aware that Gar- 
vington was the culprit, she would exhibit no surprise 
did the bullet fit the barrel of that gentleman’s re- 
volver. And should it be proved that she knew the 
truth, she would not dare to say anything to the po- 
lice, lest she should be brought into the matter, as an 
accomplice after the fact. Chaldea misunderstood his 
silence, while he was thinking in this way, and smiled 
mockingly with a toss of her head. 

“Ah, the rye is afraid. His sin has come home to 
him,” she sneered. “Hai, you are at my feet now, 
my Gorgious one.” 

“I think not,” said Lambert coolly, and rose to put 
on his cap. “Come with me, Chaldea. We go to The 
Manor.” 

“And what would I do in the boro rye’s ken, my 
precious ?” 

Lambert ignored the question. “Have you the bul- 
let with you?” 

“Avali,” Chaldea nodded. “It lies in my pocket.” 


RED MONEY 


247 


'Then we shall see at The Manor if it fits the 
pistol.” 

“Hai ! you have left the shooter at the big house,” 
said the girl, falling into the trap, and thereby proved 
— to Lambert at least — that she was really in the dark 
as regards the true criminal. 

“Lord Garvington has a revolver of mine,” said the 
young man evasively, although the remark was a true 
one, since he had presented his cousin with a brace 
of revolvers some twelve months before. 

Chaldea looked at him doubtfully. “And if the 
bullet fits ” 

“Then you can do what you like,” retorted Lam- 
bert tartly. “Come on. I can’t wait here all day 
listening to the rubbish you talk.” 

The gypsy followed him sullenly enough, being 
overborne by his peremptory manner, and anxious, 
if possible, to bring home the crime to him. What 
she could not understand, for all her cleverness, was, 
why he should be so eager to condemn himself, and 
so went to The Manor on the lookout for treachery. 
Chaldea always judged other people by herself, and 
looked upon treachery as quite necessary on certain 
occasions. Had she guessed the kind of trap which 
Lambert was laying for her, it is questionable if she 
would have fallen into it so easily. And Lambert, 
even at this late hour, could not be certain if she 
really regarded him as guilty, or if she was only bluff- 
ing in order to gain her ends. 

Needless to say, Garvington did not welcome his 
cousin enthusiastically when he entered the library to 
find him waiting with Chaldea beside him. The fat 
little man rushed in like a whirlwind, and, ignoring 
his own shady behavior, heaped reproaches on Lam- 
bert’s head. 


248 


RED MONEY 


“I wonder you have the cheek to come here,” he 
raged. “You and this beast of a girl. I want no 
gypsies in my house, I can tell you. And you’ve lost 
me a fortune by your selfish behavior.” 

“I don’t think we need talk of selfishness when you 
are present, Garvington.” 

“Why not? By marrying Agnes you have made 
her give up the money.” 

“She wished to give it up to punish you,” said 
Lambert rebukingly. 

“To punish me!” Garvington’s gooseberry eyes 
nearly fell out of his head. “And what have I done ?” 

Lambert laughed and shrugged his shoulders. In 
the face of this dense egotism, it was impossible to 
argue in any way. He dismissed the subject and got 
to business, as he did not wish to remain longer in 
Garvington’s society than was absolutely necessary. 

“This girl,” he said abruptly, indicating Chaldea, 
who stood passively at his elbow, “has found the bul- 
let with which Pine was shot.” 

“Kara found it, my boro rye,” put in the gypsy 
quickly, and addressing Lord Garvington, who gur- 
gled out his surprises, “in the tree-trunk.” 

“Ah, yes,” interrupted the other. “The elm which 
is near the shrubbery. Then why didn’t you give the 
bullet to the police?” 

“Do you ask that, Garvington?” inquired Lambert 
meaningly, and the little man whirled round to an- 
swer with an expression of innocent surprise. 

“Of course I do,” he vociferated, growing purple 
with resentment. “You don’t accuse me of murder- 
ing the man who was so useful to me, I hope?” 

“I shall answer that very leading question when you 
bring out the revolver with which you shot Pine on 
that night.” 


RED MONEY 


249 


“I only winged him,” cried Garvington indignantly. 
“The second shot was fired by some unknown person, 
as was proved clearly enough at the inquest.” 

“All the same, I wish you to produce the revolver.” 

“Why?” The host looked suspicious and even 
anxious. 

It was Chaldea who replied, and when doing so she 
fished out the battered bullet. “To see if this fits the 
barrel of the pistol which the golden rye gave you, 
my great one,” said she significantly. 

Garvington started, his color changed and he stole 
a queer look at the impassive face of his cousin. “The 
pistol which the golden rye gave me?” he repeated 
slowly and weighing the words. “Did you give me 
one, Noel?” 

“I gave you a couple in a case,” answered Lambert 
without mentioning the date of the present. “And 
if this bullet fits the one you used ” 

“It will prove nothing,” interrupted the other hur- 
riedly, and with a restless movement. “I fired from 
the doorstep, and my bullet, after breaking Pine’s 
arm, must have vanished into the beyond. The shot 
which killed him was fired from the shrubbery, and 
it is quite easy to guess how it passed through him 
and buried itself in the tree which was in the line of 
fire.” 

“I want to see the pistols,” said Lambert insist- 
ently, and this time Chaldea looked at him, wonder- 
ing why he was so anxious to condemn himself. 

“Oh, very well,” snapped Garvington, with some 
reluctance, and walked toward the door. There he 
paused, and evidently awaited to arrive at some con- 
clusion, the nature of which his cousin could not guess. 
“Oh, very well,” he said again, and left the room. 

“He thinks that you are a fool, as I do, my Gor- 


250 


BED MONEY 


gious,” said Chaldea scornfully. “You wish to hang 
yourself it seems, my rye.” 

“Oh, I don’t think that I shall be the one to be 
hanged. Tell me, Chaldea, do you really believe that 
I am guilty?” 

“Yes,” said the girl positively. “And if you had 
married me I should have saved you.” 

Lambert laughed, but was saved the trouble of a 
reply by the return of Garvington, who trotted in to 
lay a mahogany case on the table. Opening this, he 
took out a small revolver of beautiful workmanship. 
Chaldea, desperately anxious to bring home the crime 
to Lambert, hastily snatched the weapon from the lit- 
tle man’s hand and slipped the bullet into one of the 
chambers. It fitted — making allowance for its bat- 
tered condition — precisely. She uttered a cry of tri- 
umph. “So you did shoot the Romany, my bold one,” 
was her victorious speech. 

“Because the bullet fits the barrel of a revolver I 
gave to my cousin some twelve months ago?” he in- 
quired, smiling. 

Chaldea’s face fell. “Twelve months ago!” she 
echoed, greatly disappointed. 

“Yes, as Lord Garvington can swear to. So I could 
not have used the weapon on that night, you see.” 

“I used it,” admitted Garvington readily enough. 
“And winged Pine.” 

“Exactly. But I gave you a brace of revolvers of 
the same make. The bullet which would fit one — as 
it does — would fit the other. I see there is only one 
in the case. Where is the other?” 

Garvington’s color changed and he shuffled with his 
feet. “I lent it to Silver,” he said in a low voice, and 
reluctantly. 

“Was it in Silver’s possession on the night Pine 
was shot?” 


RED MONEY 


251 


“Must have been. He borrowed it a week before 
because he feared burglars.” 

“Then,” said Lambert coolly, and drawing a breath 
of relief, for the tension had been great, “the infer- 
ence is obvious. Silver shot Hubert Pine.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


AN AMAZING ACCUSATION. 

“Beng in tutes bukko!” swore Chaldea in good 
Romany, meaning that she wished the devil was in 
some one’s body. And she heartily meant what she 
said, and cared little which of the two men’s interior 
was occupied by the enemy of mankind, since she 
hated both. The girl was disappointed to think that 
Lambert should escape from her snare, and enraged 
that Garvington’s production of one revolver and his 
confession that Silver had the other tended to this 
end. “May the pair of you burn in hell,” she cried, 
taking to English, so that they could understand the 
insult. “Ashes may you be in the Crooked One’s 
furnace.” 

Lambert shrugged his shoulders, as he quite under- 
stood her feelings, and did not intend to lower him- 
self by correcting her. He addressed himself to his 
cousin and turned his back on the gypsy. “Silver shot 
Hubert Pine,” he repeated, with his eyes on Garving- 
ton’s craven face. 

“It’s impossible — impossible!” returned the other 
hurriedly. “Silver was shut up in the house with the 
rest. I saw to the windows and doors myself, along 
with the butler and footmen. At the inquest ” 

“Never mind about the inquest. I know what you 
said there, and I am now beginning to see why you 
said it.” 

“What the devil do you mean ?” 

252 


RED MONEY 


253 


“I mean/’ stated the other, staring hard at him, 
‘‘that you knew Silver was guilty when the inquest 
took place, and screened him for some reason.” 

“I didn’t know ; I swear I didn’t know !” stuttered 
Garvington, wiping his heated face, and with his lower 
lip trembling. 

“You must have done so,” replied Lambert relent- 
lessly. “This bullet will fit both the revolvers I gave 
you, and as you passed on one to Silver ” 

“Rubbish! Bosh! Nonsense!” babbled the little 
man incoherently. “Until you brought the bullet I 
never knew that it would fit the revolver.” 

This was true, as Lambert admitted. However, he 
saw that Garvington was afraid for some reason, and 
pressed his advantage. “Now that you see how it fits, 
you must be aware that it could only have been fired 
from the revolver which you gave Silver.” 

“I don’t see that,” protested Garvington. “That 
bullet may fit many revolvers.” 

Lambert shook his head. “I don’t think so. I had 
that brace of revolvers especially manufactured, and 
the make is peculiar. I am quite prepared to swear 
that the bullet would fit no other weapon. And — 
and” — he hesitated, then faced the girl, who lingered, 
sullen and disappointed. “You can go, Chaldea,” said 
Lambert, pointing to the French window of the li- 
brary, which was wide open. 

The gypsy sauntered toward it, clutching her shawl 
and gritting her white teeth together. “Oh, I go 
my ways, my rye, but I have not done with you yet, 
may the big devil rack my bones if I have. You win 
to-day — I win to-morrow, and so good day to you, 
and curses on you for a bad one. The devil is a nice 
character — and that’s you !” she screamed, beside her- 
self with rage. “The puro beng is a fino mush, if you 
will have the kalo jib!” and with a wild cry worthy 


254 


RED MONEY 


of a banshee she disappeared and was seen running 
unsteadily across the lawn. Lambert shrugged his 
shoulders again and turned to his miserable cousin, 
who had sat down with a dogged look on his fat face. 
“I have got rid of her because I wish to save the 
family name from disgrace, ” said Lambert quietly. 

“There is no disgrace on my part. Remember to 
whom you are speaking/’ 

“I do. I speak to the head of the family, worse 
luck ! You have done your best to trail our name in 
the mud. You altered a check which Pine gave you 
so as to get more money; you forged his name to a 
mortgage ” 

“Lies, lies, the lies of Agnes!” screamed Garving- 
ton, jumping up and shaking his fist in puny anger. 
“The wicked ” 

“Speak properly of my wife, or I’ll wring your 
neck,” said Lambert sharply. “As to what she told me 
being lies, it is only too true, as you know. I read 
the letter you wrote confessing that you had lured 
Pine here to be shot by telling falsehoods about Agnes 
and me.” 

“I only lured him to get his arm broken so that I 
might nurse him when he was ill and get some 
money,” growled Garvington, sitting down again. 

“I am well aware of what you did and how you did 
it. But you gave that forged letter to Silver so that 
it might be passed on to Pine.” 

“I didn’t! I didn’t! I didn’t! I didn’t!” 

“You did. And because Silver knew too much you 
gave him the Abbot’s Wood Cottage at a cheap rent, 
or at no rent at all, for all I know. To be quite plain, 
Garvington, you conspired with Silver to have Pine 
killed.” 

“Winged — only winged, I tell you. I never shot 
him.” 


RED MONEY 


255 


“Your accomplice did.” 

“He's not my accomplice. He was in the house — 
everything was locked up.” 

“By you/’ said Lambert quickly. “So it was easy 
for you to leave a window unfastened, so that Silver 
might get outside to hide in the shrubbery.” 

“Oh !” Garvington jumped up again, looking both 
pale and wicked. “You want to put a rope round my 
neck, curse you.” 

“That’s a melodramatic speech which is not true,” 
replied the other coldly. “For I want to save you, or, 
rather, our name, from disgrace. I won’t call in the 
police” — Garvington winced at this word — “because I 
wish to hush the matter up. But since Chaldea and 
Silver accuse me and accuse Agnes of getting rid of 
Pine so that we might marry, it is necessary that I 
should learn the exact truth.” 

“I don’t know it. I know nothing more than I have 
confessed.” 

“You are such a liar that I can’t believe you. How- 
ever, I shall go at once to Silver and you shall come 
with me.” 

“I shan’t !” Garvington, who was overfed and 
flabby and unable to hold his own against a deter- 
mined man, settled himself in his chair and looked 
as obstinate as a battery mule. 

“Oh, yes, you will, you little swine,” said Lambert 
freezingly cold. 

“How dare you call me names ?” 

“Names! If I called you those you deserved I 
should have to annex the vocabulary of a Texan mule- 
driver. How such a beast as you ever got into our 
family I can’t conceive.” 

“I am the head of the family and I order you to 
leave the room.” 

“Oh, you do, do you? Very good. Then I go 


256 


RED MONEY 


straight to Wanbury and shall tell what I have dis- 
covered to Inspector Darby.” 

“No! No! No! No!” Garvington, cornered at 
last, sprang from his chair and made for his cousin 
with unsteady legs. “It might be unpleasant.” 

“I daresay — to you. Well, will you come with me 
to Abbot’s Wood?” 

“Yes,” whimpered Garvington. “Wait till I get 
my cap and stick, curse you, for an interfering beast. 
You don’t know what you’re doing.” 

“Ah ! then you do know something likely to reveal 
the truth.” 

“I don’t — I swear I don’t ! I only ” 

“Oh, damn you, get your cap, and let us be off,” 
broke in Lambert angrily, “for I can’t be here all day 
listening to your lies.” 

Garvington scowled and ambled out of the room, 
closely followed by his cousin, who did not think it 
wise to lose sight of so shifty a person. In a few 
minutes they were out of the house and took the path 
leading from the blue door to the postern gate in the 
brick wall surrounding the park. It was a frosty, 
sunny day, with a hard blue sky, overarching a wintry 
landscape. A slight fall of snow had powdered the 
ground with a film of white, and the men’s feet 
drummed loudly on the iron earth, which was in the 
grip of the frost. Garvington complained of the cold, 
although he had on a fur overcoat which made him 
look like a baby bear. 

“You’ll give me my death of cold, dragging me out 
like this,” he moaned, as he trotted beside his cousin. 
“I believe you want me to take pneumonia so that I 
may die and leave you the title.” 

“I should at least respect it more than you do,” 
said Lambert with scorn. “Why can’t you be a man 


RED MONEY 


257 


instead of a thing on two legs? If you did die no one 
would miss you but cooks and provision dealers.” 

Garvington gave him a vicious glance from his little 
pig’s eyes, and longed to be tall, and strong, and dar- 
ing, so that he might knock him down. But he knew 
that Lambert was muscular and dexterous, and would 
probably break his neck if it came to a tussle. There- 
fore, as the stout little lord had a great regard for his 
neck, he judged it best to yield to superior force, and 
trotted along obediently enough. Also he became 
aware within himself that it would be necessary to 
explain to Silver how he had come to betray him, and 
that would not be easy. Silver would be certain to 
make himself extremely disagreeable. Altogether the 
walk was not a pleasant one for the sybarite. 

The Abbot’s Wood looked bare and lean with the 
leaves stripped from its many trees. Occasionally there 
was a fir, clothed in dark green foliage, but for the 
most part the branches of the trees were naked, and 
quivered constantly in the chilly breeze. Even on the 
outskirts of the wood one could see right into the 
centre where the black monoliths — they looked black 
against the snow — reared themselves grimly. To the 
right there was a glimpse of gypsy fires and tents and 
caravans, and the sound of the Romany tongue was 
borne toward them through the clear atmosphere. On 
such a day it was easy both to see and hear for long 
distances, and for this reason Chaldea became aware 
that the two men were walking toward the cottage. 

The girl, desperately angry that she had been un- 
able to bring Lambert to book, had sauntered back to 
the camp, but had just reached it when she caught 
sight of the tall figure and the short one. In a mo- 
ment she knew that Lambert and his cousin were 
making for Silver’s abode, which was just what she 
had expected them to do. At once she determined to 


258 


RED MONEY 


again adopt her former tactics, which had been suc- 
cessful in enabling her to overhear the conversation 
between Lambert and Lady Agnes, and, following at 
a respectful distance, she waited for her chance. It 
came when the pair entered the cottage, for then Chal- 
dea ran swiftly in a circle toward the monoliths, and 
crouched down behind one. While peering from be- 
hind this shelter, she saw Silver pass the window of 
the studio, and felt certain that the interview would 
take place in that room. Like a serpent, as she was, 
the girl crawled and wriggled through the frozen 
vegetation and finally managed to get under the win- 
dow without being observed. The window was 
closed, but by pressing her ear close to the woodwork 
she was enabled to hear a great deal, if not all. Can- 
didly speaking, Chaldea had truly believed that Lam- 
bert had shot Pine, but now that he had disproved the 
charge so easily, she became desperately anxious to 
learn the truth. Lambert had escaped her, but she 
thought that it might be possible to implicate his wife 
in the crime, which would serve her purpose of injur- 
ing him just as well. 

Silver was not surprised to see his landlord, as it 
seemed that Garvington paid him frequent visits. But 
he certainly showed an uneasy amazement when Lam- 
bert stalked in behind the fat little man. Silver was 
also small, and also cowardly, and also not quite at 
rest in his conscience, so he shivered when he met 
the very direct gaze of his unwelcome visitor. * 

“You have come to look at your old house, Mr. 
Lambert,” he remarked, when the two made them- 
selves comfortable by the studio fire. 

“Not at all. I have come to see you,” was the grim 
response. 

“That is an unexpected honor,” said Silver un- 
easily, and his eyes sought those of Lord Garvington, 


RED MONEY 


259 


who was spreading out his hands to the blaze, look- 
ing blue with cold. He caught Silver's inquiring 
look. 

“I couldn’t help it,” said Garvington crossly. “I 
must look after myself.” 

Silver’s smooth, foxy face became livid, and he 
could scarcely speak. When he did, it was with a 
sickly smile. “Whatever are you talking about, my 
lord?” 

“Oh, you know, d you ! I did give you that 

revolver, you know.” 

“The revolver?” Silver stared. “Yes, why should 
I deny it? I suppose you have come to get it back?” 

“/ have come to get it, Mr. Silver,” put in Lam- 
bert politely. “Hand it over to me, if you please.” 

“If you like. It certainly has your name on the 
handle,” said the secretary so quietly that the other 
man was puzzled. Silver did not seem to be so un- 
comfortable as he might have been. 

“The revolver was one of a pair which I had espe- 
cially made when I went to Africa some years ago,” 
explained Lambert elaborately, and determined to 
make his listener understand the situation thoroughly. 
“On my return I made them a present to my cousin. 
I understand, Mr. Silver, that Lord Garvington lent 
you one ” 

“And kept the other,” interrupted the man sharply. 
“That is true. I was afraid of burglars, since Lord 
Garvington was always talking about them, so I asked 
him to lend me a weapon to defend myself with.” 

“And you used it to shoot Pine,” snapped Garving- 
ton, anxious to end his suspense and get the inter- 
view over as speedily as possible. 

Silver rose from his seat in an automatic manner, 
and turned delicately pale. “Are you mad?” he 
gasped, looking from one man to the other. 


260 


RED MONEY 


“It’s all very well you talking,” whimpered Gar- 
vington with a shiver; “but Pine was shot with that 
revolver I lent you.” 

“It’s a lie !” 

“Oh, I knew you’d say that,” complained Garving- 
ton, shivering again. “But I warned you that there 
might be trouble, since you carried that letter for me, 
so that it might fall by chance into Pine’s hands.” 

“Augh !” groaned Silver, sinking back into his chair 
and passing his tongue over a pair of dry, gray lips. 
“Hold your tongue, my lord.” 

“What’s the use? He knows,” and Garvington 
jerked his head in the direction of his cousin. “The 
game’s up, Silver — the game’s up !” 

“Oh !” Silver’s eyes flashed, and he looked like a 
rat at bay. “So you intend to save yourself at my 
expense. But it won’t do, my lord. You wrote that 
letter, if I carried it to the camp.” 

“I have admitted to my sister and to Lambert, 
here, that I wrote the letter, Silver. I had to, or get 
into trouble with the police, since neither of them will 
listen to reason. But you suggested the plan to get 
Pine winged so that he might be ill in my house, and 
then we could both get money out of him. You in- 
vented the plot, and I only wrote the letter.” 

“Augh! Augh!” gulped Silver, unable to speak 
plainly. 

“Do you confess the truth of Lord Garvington’s 
statement?” inquired Lambert suavely, and fixing a 
merciless eye on the trapped fox. 

“No — that is — yes. He swings on the same hook as 
I do.” 

“Indeed. Then Lord Garvington was aware that 
you shot Pine?” 

“I was not ! I was not !” screamed the head of the 
Lambert family, jumping up and clenching his hands. 


RED MONEY 


261 


“I swear I never knew the truth until you brought 
the bullet to the library to fit the revolver.” 

“The — the — bullet !” stammered Silver, whose 
smooth red hair was almost standing on end from 
sheer fright. 

“Yes,” said Lambert, addressing him sharply. 
“Kara, under the direction of Chaldea, found the bul- 
let in the trunk of the elm tree which was in the line 
of fire. She came with me to The Manor this morn- 
ing, and we found that it fitted the barrel of Lord 
Garvington’s revolver. At the inquest, and on unim- 
peachable evidence, it was proved that he fired only 
the first shot, which disabled Pine without killing him. 
The second shot, which pierced the man’s heart, 
could only have come from the second revolver, which 
was, and is, in your possession, Mr. Silver. The bul- 
let found in the tree trunk will fit no other barrel of 
no other weapon. I am prepared to swear to this.” 

Silver covered his face with his hands and looked 
so deadly white that Lambert believed he would faint. 
However, he pulled himself together, and addressed 
Garvington anxiously. “You know, my lord, that you 
locked up the house on that night, and that I was in- 
doors.” 

“Yes,” admitted the other hesitating. “So far as I 
knew you certainly were inside. It is true, Noel,” he 
added, catching his cousin’s eye. “Even to save my- 
self I must admit that.” 

“Oh, you’d admit anything to save yourself,” re- 
torted his cousin contemptuously, and noting the mis- 
take in the wording of the sentence. “But admitting 
that Silver was within doors doesn’t save you, so far 
as I can see.” 

“There is no need for Lord Garvington to excuse 
himself,” spoke up Silver, attempting to enlist the lit- 
tle man on his side by defending him. “It was proved 


262 


RED MONEY 


at the inquest, as you have admitted, Mr. Lambert, 
that he only fired the first shot.” 

“And you fired the second.” 

“I never did. I was inside and in bed. I only came 
down with the rest of the guests when I heard the 
firing. Is that not so, my lord ?” 

“Yes,” admitted Garvington grudgingly. “So far 
as I know you had nothing to do with the second 
shot.” 

Silver turned a relieved face toward Lambert. “I 
shall confess this much, sir,” he said, trying to speak 
calmly and judicially. “Pine treated me badly by 
taking my toy inventions and by giving me very lit- 
tle money. When I was staying at The Manor I 
learned that Lord Garvington had also been treated 
badly by Pine. He said if we could get money that 
we should go shares. I knew that Pine was jealous 
of his wife, and that you were at the cottage here, so 
I suggested that, as Lord Garvington could imitate 
handwriting, he should forge a letter purporting to 
come from Lady Agnes to you, saying that she in- 
tended to elope on a certain night. Also I told Lord 
Garvington to talk a great deal about shooting bur- 
glars, so as to give color to his shooting Pine.” 

“It was arranged to shoot him, then ?” 

“No, it wasn’t,” cried Garvington, glaring at Sil- 
ver. “All we wanted to do was to break Pine’s arm 
or leg so that he might be laid up in The Manor.” 

“Yes, that is so,” said Silver feverishly, and nod- 
ding. “I fancied — and for this reason I suggested the 
plot — that when Pine was ill, both Lord Garvington 
and myself could deal with him in an easier manner. 
Also — since the business would be left in my hands — 
I hoped to take out some money from various invest- 
ments, and share it with Lord Garvington. We never 
meant that Pine should be killed, but only reduced to 


RED MONEY 


263 


weakness so that we might force him to give us both 
money.” 

“A very ingenious plot,” said Lambert grimly and 
wondering how much of the story was true. “And 
then?” 

“Then Lord Garvington wrote the letter, and when 
seeing Pine, I gave it to him saying that while keep- 
ing watch on his wife — as he asked me to,” said Sil- 
ver with an emphasis which made Lambert wince, “I 
had intercepted the letter. Pine was furious, as I 
knew he would be, and said that he would come to the 
blue door at the appointed time to prevent the sup- 
posed elopement. I told Lord Garvington, who was 
ready, and ” 

“And I went down, pretending that Pine was a 
burglar,” said Lord Garvington, continuing the story 
in a most shameless manner. “I opened the door quite 
expecting to find him there. He rushed me, believing 
in his blind haste that I was Agnes coming to elope 
with you. I shot him in the arm, and he staggered 
away, while I shut the door again. Whether, on find- 
ing his mistake, and knowing that he had met me in- 
stead of Agnes, he intended to go away, I can’t say, as 
I was on the wrong side of the door. But Agnes, at- 
tracted to the window by the shot, declared — and you 
heard her declare it at the inquest, Noel — that Pine 
walked rapidly away and was shot just as he came 
abreast of the shrubbery. That’s all.” 

“And quite enough, too,” said Lambert savagely. 
“You tricky pair of beasts; I suppose you hoped to 
implicate me in the crime?” 

“It wasn’t a crime,” protested Silver; “but only a 
way to get money. By going up to London you cer- 
tainly delayed what we intended to do, since we could 
not carry out our plan until you returned. You did 


264 


RED MONEY 


for one night, as Chaldea, who was on the watch for 
you, told us, and then we acted.” 

“Did Chaldea know of the trap?” 

“No ! She knew nothing save that I” — it was Sil- 
ver who spoke — “wanted to know about your return. 
She found the letter in Pine’s tent, and really believed 
that Lady Agnes had written it, and that you had shot 
Pine. It was to force you by threats to marry her 
that she gave the letter to me.” 

“And she instructed you to show it to the police,” 
said Lambert between his teeth, “whereas you tried to 
blackmail Lady Agnes.” 

“I had to make my money somehow,” said Silver 
insolently. “Pine was dead and Lady Agnes had the 
coin.” 

“You were to share in the twenty-five thousand 
pounds, I suppose?” Lambert asked his cousin indig- 
nantly. 

“No; Silver blackmailed on his own. I hoped to 
get money from Agnes in another way — as her hard- 
up brother that is. And if ” 

“Oh, shut up ! You make me sick,” interrupted 
Lambert, suppressing a strong desire to choke his 
cousin. “You are as bad as Silver.” 

“And Silver is as innocent as Lord Garvington,” 
struck in that gentleman, whose face was recovering 
its natural color. 

Lambert turned on him sharply. “I don’t agree 
with that. You shot Pine !” 

Silver sprang up with a hysterical cry. He had 
judged like Agag that the bitterness of death was 
past, but found that he was not yet safe. “I did not 
shoot Pine,” he declared, wringing his hands. “Oh, 
why can’t you believe me.” 

“Because Garvington gave you the second revolver 


RED MONEY 


265 


and with that — on the evidence of the bullet — Pine 
was murdered.” 

“That might be so, but — but ” Silver hesitated, 

and shivered and looked round with a hunted expres- 
sion in his eyes. 

“But what ? You may as well explain to me.” 

“I shan’t — I refuse to. I am innocent! You can’t 
hurt me !” 

Lambert brushed aside this puny rage. “Inspector 
Darby can. I shall go to Wanbury this evening and 
tell him all.” 

“No ,* don’t do that !” cried Garvington, greatly agi- 
tated. “Think of me — think of the family !” 

“I think of Justice! You two beasts aren’t fit to be 
at large. I’m off,” and he made for the door. 

In a moment Silver was clutching his coat. “No, 
don’t!” he screamed. “I am innocent! Lord Gar- 
vington, say that I am innocent!” 

“Oh, you, get out of the hole as best you can ! 

I’m in as big a mess as you are, unless Lambert acts 
decently.” 

“Decently, you wicked little devil,” said Lambert 
scornfully. “I only propose to do what any decent 
man would do. You trapped Pine by means of the 
letter, and Silver shot him.” 

“I didn’t! I didn’t!” 

“You had the revolver !” 

“I hadn’t. I gave it away ! I lent it !” panted Sil- 
ver, crying with terror. 

“You lent it — you gave it — you liar ! Who to ?” 

Silver looked round again for some way of escape, 
but could see none. “To Miss Greeby. She — she — 
she — she shot Pine. I swear she did.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


MOTHER COCKLESHELL. 

It was late in the afternoon when Lambert got back 
to the village inn, and he felt both tired and bewil- 
dered. The examination of Silver had been so long, 
and what he revealed so amazing, that the young man 
wished to be alone, both to rest and to think over the 
situation. It was a very perplexing one, as he plainly 
saw, since, in the light of the new revelations, it 
seemed almost impossible to preserve the name of the 
family from disgrace. Seated in his sitting room, 
with his legs stretched out and his hands in his pock- 
ets, Lambert moodily glared at the carpet, recalling all 
that had been confessed by the foxy secretary of Miss 
Greeby. That he should accuse her of committing 
the crime seemed unreasonable. 

According to Silver, the woman had overheard by 
chance the scheme to lure Pine to The Manor. Know- 
ing that the millionaire was coming to Abbot’s Wood, 
the secretary had propounded the plan to Garvington 
long before the man’s arrival. Hence the constant 
talk of the host about burglars and his somewhat un- 
necessary threat to shoot any one who tried to break 
into the house. The persistence of this remark had 
roused Miss Greeby’s curiosity, and noting that Sil- 
ver and his host were frequently in one another’s 
company, she had seized her opportunity to listen. For 
some time, so cautious were the plotters, she had heard 
nothing particular, but after her recognition of Hearne 
266 


RED MONEY 


267 


as Pine when she visited the gypsy camp she became 
aware that these secret talks were connected with his 
presence. Then a chance remark of Garvington’s — 
he was always loose-tongued — gave her the clue, and 
by threats of exposure she managed to make Silver 
confess the whole plot. Far from thwarting it she 
agreed to let them carry it out, and promised secrecy, 
only extracting a promise that she should be advised 
of the time and place for the trapping of the million- 
aire. And it was this acquiescence of Miss Greeby’s 
which puzzled Lambert. 

On the face of it, since she was in love with him, 
it was better for her own private plans that Pine 
should remain alive, because the marriage placed 
Agnes beyond his reach. Why, then, should Miss 
Greeby have removed the barrier — and at the cost of 
being hanged for murder ? Lambert had asked Silver 
this question, but had obtained no definite answer, 
since the secretary protested that she had not ex- 
plained her reasons. Jokingly referring to possible 
burglars, she had borrowed the revolver from Silver 
which he had obtained from Garvington, and it was 
this action which first led the little secretary to sus- 
pect her. Afterward, knowing that she had met Pine 
in Abbot’s Wood, he kept a close watch on her every 
action to see if she intended to take a hand in the 
game. But Silver protested that he could see no rea- 
son for her doing so, and even up to the moment when 
he confessed to Lambert could not conjecture why she 
had acted in such a manner. 

However, it appeared that she was duly informed 
of the hour when Pine would probably arrive to pre- 
vent the pretended elopement, and also learned that 
he would be hanging about the blue door. When Sil- 
ver retired for the night he watched the door of her 
bedroom — which was in the same wing of the man- 


268 


RED MONEY 


sion of his own. Also he occasionally looked out to 
see if Pine had arrived, as the window of his room 
afforded a fair view of the blue door and the shrub- 
bery. For over an hour — as he told Lambert — he di- 
vided his attention between the passage and the win- 
dow. It was while looking out of the last, and after 
midnight, that he saw Miss Greeby climb out of her 
room and descend to the ground by means of the ivy 
which formed a natural ladder. Her window was no 
great height from the ground, and she was an athletic 
woman much given to exercise. Wondering what she 
intended to do, yet afraid — because of Pine’s expected 
arrival — to leave the house, Silver watched her cau- 
tiously. She was arrayed in a long black cloak with a 
hood, he said, but in the brilliant moonlight he could 
easily distinguish her gigantic form as she slipped into 
the shrubbery. When Pine arrived, Silver saw him 
dash at the blue door when it was opened by Gar- 
vington, and saw him fall back after the first shot. 
Then he heard the shutting of the door ; immediately 
afterward the opening of Lady Agnes’s window, and 
noted that Pine ran quickly and unsteadily down the 
path. As he passed the shrubbery, the second shot 
came — at this point Silver simply gave the same de- 
scription as Lady Agnes did at the inquest — and then 
Pine fell. Afterward Garvington and his guests came 
out and gathered round the body, but Miss Greeby, 
slipping along the rear of the shrubbery, doubled back 
to the shadow at the corner of the house. Silver, 
having to play his part, did not wait to see her re- 
enter the mansion, but presumed she did so by clam- 
bering up the ivy. He ran down and mingled with 
the guests and servants, who were clustered round 
the dead man, and finally found Miss Greeby at his 
elbow, artlessly inquiring what had happened. For the 
time being he accepted her innocent attitude. 


RED MONEY 


269 


Later on, when dismissed by Jarwin and in want of 
funds, he sought out Miss Greeby and accused her. 
At first she denied the story, but finally, as she judged 
that he could bring home the crime to her, she com- 
promised with him by giving him the post of her sec- 
retary at a good salary. When he obtained the forged 
letter from Chaldea — and she learned this from Lam- 
bert when he was ill — Miss Greeby made him give it 
to her, alleging that by showing it to Agnes she could 
the more positively part the widow from her lover. 
Miss Greeby, knowing who had written the letter, 
counted upon Agnes guessing the truth, and had she 
not seen that it had entered her mind, when the letter 
was brought to her, she would have given a hint as 
to the forger’s name. But Agnes’s hesitation and sud- 
den paleness assured Miss Greeby that she guessed the 
truth, so the letter was left to work its poison. Silver, 
of course, clamored for his blackmail, but Miss Greeby 
promised to recompense him, and also threatened if 
he did not hold his tongue that she would accuse him 
and Garvington of the murder. Since the latter had 
forged the letter and the former had borrowed the re- 
volver which had killed Pine, it would have been tol- 
erably easy for Miss Greeby to substantiate her accu- 
sation. As to her share in the crime, all she had to do 
was to deny that Silver had passed the borrowed re- 
volver on to her, and there was no way in which he 
could prove that he had done so. On the whole, Sil- 
ver had judged it best to fall in with Miss Greeby’s 
plans, and preserve silence, especially as she was rich 
and could supply him with whatever money he chose 
to ask for. She was in his power, and he was in her 
power, so it was necessary to act on the golden rule 
of give and take. 

And the final statement which Silver made to Lam- 
bert intimated that Garvington was ignorant of the 


270 


RED MONEY 


truth. Until the bullet was produced in the library 
to fit the revolver it had never struck Garvington that 
the other weapon had been used to kill Pine. And 
he had honestly believed that Silver — as w r as actually 
the case — had remained in his bedroom all the time, 
until he came downstairs to play his part. As to Miss 
Greeby being concerned in the matter, such an idea 
had never entered Garvington’s head. The little 
man’s hesitation in producing the revolver, when he 
got an inkling of the truth, was due to his dread that 
if Silver was accused of the murder — and at the time 
it seemed as though the secretary was guilty — he 
might turn king’s evidence to save his neck, and ex- 
plain the very shady plot in which Garvington had 
been engaged. But Lambert had forced his cousin’s 
hand, and Silver had been brought to book, with the 
result that the young man now sat in his room at the 
inn, quite convinced that Miss Greeby was guilty, yet 
wondering what motive had led her to act in such a 
murderous way. 

Also, Lambert wondered what was best to be done, 
in order to save the family name. If he went to the 
police and had Miss Greeby arrested, the truth of 
Garvington’s shady dealings would certainly come to 
light, especially as Silver was an accessory after the 
fact. On the other hand, if he left things as they 
were, there was always a chance that hints might be 
thrown out by Chaldea — who had everything to gain 
and nothing to lose — that he and Agnes were respon- 
sible for the death of Pine. Of course, Lambert, not 
knowing that Chaldea had been listening to the con- 
versation in the cottage, believed that the girl was 
ignorant of the true state of affairs, and he wondered 
how he could inform her that the actual criminal was 
known without risking her malignity. He wanted to 
clear his character and that of his wife; likewise he 


RED MONEY 


271 


wished to save the family name. But it seemed to 
him that the issue of these things lay in the hands of 
Chaldea, and she was bent upon injuring him if she 
could. It was all very perplexing. 

It was at this point of his meditation that Mother 
Cockleshell arrived at the inn. He heard her jovial voice 
outside and judged from its tone that the old dame 
was in excellent spirits. Her visit seemed to be a 
hint from heaven as to what he should do. Gentilla 
hated Chaldea and loved Agnes, so Lambert felt that 
she would be able to help him. As soon as possible 
he had her brought into the sitting room, and, having 
made her sit down, closed both the door and the win- 
dow, preparatory to telling her all that he had learned. 
The conversation was, indeed, an important one, and 
he was anxious that it should take place without wit- 
nesses. 

“You are kind, sir,” said Mother Cockleshell, who 
had been supplied with a glass of gin and water. “But 
it ain’t for the likes of me to be sitting down with the 
likes of you.” 

“Nonsense! We must have a long talk, and I can't 
expect you to stand all the time — at your age.” 

“Some Gentiles ain’t so anxious to save the legs of 
old ones,” remarked Gentilla Stanley cheerfully. “But 
I always did say as you were a golden one for kind- 
ness of heart. Well, them as does what’s unexpected 
gets what they don’t hope for.” 

“I have got my heart’s desire, Mother,” said Lam- 
bert, sitting down and lighting his pipe. “I am happy 
now.” 

“Not as happy as you’d like to be, sir,” said the old 
woman, speaking quite in the Gentile manner, and 
looking like a decent charwoman. “You’ve a dear 
wife, as I don’t deny, Mr. Lambert, but money is what 
you want.” 


272 


BED MONEY 


“I have enough for my needs.” 

“Not for her needs, sir. She should be wrapped in 
cloth of gold and have a path of flowers to tread 
upon.” 

“It’s a path of thorns just now,” muttered Lambert 
moodily. 

“Not for long, sir; not for long. I come to put 
the crooked straight and to raise a lamp to banish 
the dark. Very good this white satin is,” said Mother 
Cockleshell irrelevantly, and alluding to the gin. 
“And terbaccer goes well with it, as there’s no deny- 
ing. You wouldn’t mind my taking a whiff, sir, would 
you?” and she produced a blackened clay pipe which 
had seen much service. “Smoking is good for the 
nerves, Mr. Lambert.” 

The young man handed her his pouch. “Fill up,” 
he said, smiling at the idea of his smoking in com- 
pany with an old gypsy hag. 

“Bless you, my precious !” said Mother Cockleshell, 
accepting the offer with avidity, and talking more in 
the Romany manner. “I allers did say as you were 
what I said before you were, and that’s golden, my 
Gorgious one. Ahime!” she blew a wreath of blue 
smoke from her withered lips, “that’s food to me, my 
dearie, and heat to my old bones.” 

Lambert nodded. “You hinted, in Devonshire, that 
you had something to say, and a few moments ago 
you talked about putting the crooked straight.” 

“And don’t the crooked need that same?” chuckled 
Gentilla, nodding. “There’s trouble at hand, my gen- 
tleman. The child’s brewing witch’s broth, for sure.” 

“Chaldea!” Lambert sat up anxiously. He mis- 
trusted the younger gypsy greatly, and was eager to 
know what she was now doing. 

“Aye ! Aye ! Aye !” Mother Cockleshell nodded 
three times like a veritable Macbeth witch. “She came 


RED MONEY 


273 


tearing, rampagious-like, to the camp an hour or so 
back and put on her fine clothes — may they cleave with 
pain to her skin — to go to the big city. It is true, rye. 
Kara ran by the side of the donkey she rode upon — 
may she have an accident — to Wanbury.” 

“To Wanbury ?” Lambert looked startled as it 
crossed his mind, and not unnaturally, that Chaldea 
might have gone to inform Inspector Darby about 
the conversation with Garvington in the library. 

“To Wanbury first, sir, and then to Lundra.” 

“How can you be certain of that?” 

“The child treated me like the devil’s calls her,” 
said Gentilla Stanley, shaking her head angrily. “And 
I have no trust in her, for a witchly wrong ’un she is. 
When she goes donkey-wise to Wanbury, I says to a 
chal, says I, quick-like, ‘Follow and watch her games !’ 
So the chal runs secret, behind hedges, and comes on 
the child at the railway line making for Lundra. And 
off she goes on wheels in place of tramping the droms 
in true Romany style.” 

“What the deuce has she gone to London for?” 
Lambert asked himself in a low voice, but Gentilla’s 
sharp ears overheard. 

“Mischief for sure, my gentleman. Hai, but she’s 
a bad one, that same. But she plays and I play, with 
the winning for me — since the good cards are always 
in the old hand. Fear nothing, my rye. She cannot 
hurt, though snake that she is, her bite stings.” 

The young man did not reply. He was uneasy in 
one way and relieved in another. Chaldea certainly 
had not gone to see Inspector Darby, so she could not 
have any intention of bringing the police into the mat- 
ter. But why had she gone to London? He asked 
himself this question and finally put it to the old 
woman, who watched him with bright, twinkling eyes. 

“She’s gone for mischief,” answered Gentilla, nod- 


274 RED MONEY 


ding positively. “For mischief’s as natural to her as 
cheating is to a Romany chal. But I’m a dealer of 
cards myself, rye, and I deal myself the best hand.” 

“I wish you’d leave metaphor and come to plain 
speaking,” cried Lambert in an irritable tone, for the 
conversation was getting on his nerves by reason of 
its prolixity and indirectness. 

Mother Cockleshell laughed and nodded, then emp- 
tied the ashes out of her pipe and spoke out, irrele- 
vantly as it would seem: “The child has taken the 
hearts of the young from me,” said she, shaking her 
grizzled head; “but the old cling to the old. With 
them as trusts my wisdom, my rye, I goes across the 
black water to America and leaves the silly ones to 
the child. She’ll get them into choky and trouble, for 
sure. And that’s a true dukkerin.” 

“Have you the money to go to America?” 

“Money?” The old woman chuckled and hugged 
herself. “And why not, sir, when Ishmael Hearne 
was my child. Aye, the child of my child, for I am the 
bebee of Hearne, bebee being grandmother in our 
Romany tongue, sir.” 

Lambert started from his seat, almost too aston- 
ished to speak. “Do you mean to say that you are 
Pine’s grandmother?” 

“Pine? Who is Pine? A Gentile I know not. 
Hearne he was born and Hearne he shall be to me, 
though the grass is now a quilt for him. Ohone! 
Hai mai! Ah, me! Woe! and woe, my gentleman. 
He was the child of my child and the love of my 
heart,” she rocked herself to and fro sorrowfully, 
“like a leaf has he fallen from the tree; like the dew 
has he vanished into the blackness of the great shadow. 
Hai mai ! Hai mai ! the sadness of it.” 

“Hearne your grandson ?” murmured Lambert, star- 
ing at her and scarcely able to believe her. 


BED MONEY 


27 5 


“True. Yes; it is true,” said Gentilla, still rocking. 
“He left the road, and the tent, and the merry fire 
under a hedge for your Gentile life. But a born 
Romany he was and no Gorgio. Ahr-r-r !” she shook 
herself with disgust. “Why did he labor for gold 
in the Gentile manner, when he could have chored 
and cheated like a true-hearted black one?” 

Her allusions to money suddenly enlightened the 
young man. “Yours is the name mentioned in the 
sealed letter held by Jarwin?” he cried, with genuine 
amazement written largely on his face. “You inherit 
the millions?” 

Mother Cockleshell wiped her eyes with a corner of 
her shawl and chuckled complacently. “It is so, young 
man, therefore can I take those who hold to my wis- 
dom to the great land beyond the water. Ah, I am 
rich now, sir, and as a Gorgious one could I live be- 
neath a roof-tree. But for why, I asks you, my golden 
rye, when I was bred to the open and the sky? In a 
tent I was born; in a tent I shall die. Should I go, 
Gentile, it’s longing for the free life I’d be, since 
Romany I am and ever shall be. As we says in our 
tongue, my dear, ‘It’s allers the boro matcho that 
pet-a-lay ’dree the panni,’ though true gypsy lingo 
you can’t call it for sure.” 

“What does it mean?” demanded Lambert, staring 
at the dingy possessor of two millions sterling. 

“It’s allers the largest fish that falls back into the 
water,” translated Mrs. Stanley. “I told that to Le- 
land, the boro rye, and he goes and puts the same into 
a book for your readings, my dearie !” then she uttered 
a howl and flung up her arms. “But what matter I 
am rich, when my child’s child’s blood calls out for 
vengeance. I’d give all the red gold — and red money 
it is, my loved one,” she added, fixing a bright pair of 


276 


RED MONEY 


eyes on Lambert., “if I could find him as shot the dar- 
ling of my heart.” 

Knowing that he could trust her, and pitying her 
obvious sorrow, Lambert had no hesitation in reveal- 
ing the truth so far as he knew it. “It wasn’t a him 
who shot your grandson, but a her.” 

“Hai !” Gentilla flung up her arms again, “then I 
was right. My old eyes did see like a cat in the dark, 
though brightly shone the moon when he fell.” 

“What? You know?” Lambert started back again 
at this second surprise. 

“If it’s a Gentile lady, I know. A red one large as 
a cow in the meadows, and fierce as an unbroken colt.” 

“Miss Greeby!” 

“Greeby ! Greeby ! So your romi told me,” 
shrieked the old woman, throwing up her hands in 
ecstasy. “Says I to her, ‘Who’s the foxy one?’ and 
says she, smiling like, ‘Greeby’s her name !’ ” 

“Why did you ask my wife that?” demanded Lam- 
bert, much astonished. 

“Hai, she was no wife of yours then, sir. Why did 
I ask her? Because I saw the shooting ” 

“Of Pine — of Hearne — of your son?” 

“Of who else? of who else?” cried Mother Cockle- 
shell, clapping her skinny hand and paddling on the 
floor with her feet. “Says Ishmael to me, ‘Bebee,’ 
says he, ‘my romi is false and would run away with 
the golden rye this very night as ever was.’ And 
says I to him, ‘It’s not so, son of my son, for your 
romi is as true as the stars and purer than gold.’ But 
says he, ‘There’s a letter,’ he says, and shows it to me. 
‘Lies, son of my son,’ says I, and calls on him to play 
the trustful rom. But he pitches down the letter, and 
says he, ‘I go this night to stop them from paddling 
the hoof,’ and says I to him, ‘No! No!’ says I. 
‘She’s a true one.’ But he goes, when all in the camp 


BED MONEY 


277 


are sleeping death-like, and I watches, and I follers, 
and I hides/’ 

“Where did you hide?” 

“Never mind, dearie. I hides securely, and sees 
him walking up and down biting the lips of him and 
swinging his arms. Then I sees — for Oliver was 
bright, and Oliver’s the moon, lovey — the big Gentile 
woman come round and hide in the bushes. Says I to 
myself, says I, ‘And what’s your game?’ I says, not 
knowing the same till she shoots and my child’s child 
falls dead as a hedgehog. Then she runs and I run, 
and all is over.” 

“Why didn’t you denounce her, Gentilla?” 

“And for why, my precious heart ? Who would be- 
lieve the old gypsy? Rather would the Poknees say 
as I’d killed my dear one. No ! no ! Artful am I and 
patient in abiding my time. But the hour strikes, as 
I said when I spoke to your romi in Devonshire no 
less, and the foxy moll shall hang. You see, my dear, 
I waited for some Gentile to speak what I could speak, 
to say as what I saw was truth for sure. You speak, 
and now I can tell my tale to the big policeman at 
Wanbury so that my son’s son may sleep quiet, know- 
ing that the evil has come home to her as laid him low. 
But, lovey, oh, lovey, and my precious one!” cried 
the old woman darting forward to caress Lambert’s 
hand in a fondling way, “tell me how you know and 
what you learned. At the cottage you were, and may- 
be out in the open watching the winder of her you 
loved.” 

“No,” said Lambert sharply, “I was at the cottage 
certainly, but in bed and asleep. I did not hear of 
the crime until I was in London. In this way I found 
out the truth, Mother !” and he related rapidly all that 
had been discovered, bringing the narrative right up 
to the confession of Silver, which he detailed at length. 


278 


RED MONEY 


The old woman kept her sharp eyes on his expres- 
sive face and hugged his hand every now and then, 
as various points in the narrative struck her. At the 
end she dropped his hand and returned back to her 
chair chuckling. “It’s a sad dukkerin for the foxy 
lady,” said Gentilla, grinning like the witch she was. 
“Hanged she will be, and rightful it is to be so !” 

“I agree with you,” replied Lambert relentlessly. 
“Your evidence and that of Silver can hang her, cer- 
tainly. Yet, if she is arrested, and the whole tale 
comes out in the newspapers, think of the disgrace to 
my family.” 

Mother Cockleshell nodded. “That’s as true as 
true, my golden rye,” she said pondering. “And I 
wish not to hurt you and the rani, who was kind to 
me. I go away,” she rose to her feet briskly, “and I 
think. What will you do?” 

“I can’t say,” said Lambert, doubtfully and irreso- 
lutely. “I must consult my wife. Miss Greeby should 
certainly suffer for her crime, and yet ” 

“Aye! Aye! Aye! The boro rye,” she meant 
Garvington, “is a bad one for sure, as we know. 
Shame to him is shame to you, and I wouldn’t have 
the rani miserable — the good kind one that she is. 
Wait! aye, wait, my precious gentleman, and we shall 
see.” 

“You will say nothing in the meantime,” said Lam- 
bert, stopping her at the door, and anxious to know 
exactly what were her intentions. 

“I have waited long for vengeance and I can wait 
longer, sir,” said Mother Cockleshell, becoming less 
the gypsy and more the respectable almshouse widow. 
“Depend upon my keeping quiet until ” 

“Until what? Until when?” 

“Never you mind,” said the woman mysteriously. 


RED MONEY 


279 


“Them as sins must suffer for the sin. But not you 
and her as is innocent.’ , 

“No violence, Gentilla,” said the young man, 
alarmed less the lawless gypsy nature should punish 
Miss Greeby privately. 

“I swear there shall be no violence, rye. Wait, 
for the child is making mischief, and until we knows 
of her doings we must be silent. Give me your grip- 
per, my dearie,” she seized his wrist and bent back 
the palm of the hand to trace the lines with a dirty 
finger. “Good fortune comes to you and to her, my 
golden rye,” she droned in true gypsy fashion. 
“Money, and peace, and honor, and many children, 
to carry on a stainless name. Your son shall you 
see, and your son’s son, my noble gentleman, and with 
your romi shall you go with happiness to the grave,” 
she dropped the hand. “So be it for a true dukkerin, 
and remember Gentilla Stanley when the luck comes 
true.” 

“But Mother, Mother,” said Lambert, following 
her to the door, as he was still doubtful as to her 
intentions concerning Miss Greeby. 

The gypsy waved him aside solemnly. “Never 
again will you see me, my golden rye, if the stars 
speak truly, and if there be virtue in the lines of the 
hand. I came into your life: I go out of your life: 
and what is written shall be!” she made a mystic 
sign close to his face and then nodded cheerily. 

“Duveleste rye!” was her final greeting, and she 
disappeared swiftly, but the young man did not know 
that the Romany farewell meant, “God bless you!” 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE DESTINED END. 

As might have been anticipated, Lord Garvington 
was in anything but a happy frame of mind. He left 
Silver in almost a fainting condition, and returned to 
The Manor feeling very sick himself. The two 
cowardly little men had not the necessary pluck of 
conspirators, and now that there seemed to be a very 
good chance that their nefarious doings would be 
made public they were both in deadly fear of the con- 
sequences. Silver was in the worst plight, since he 
was well aware that the law would consider him to be 
an accessory after the fact, and that, although his 
neck was not in danger, his liberty assuredly was. He 
was so stunned by the storm which had broken so 
unexpectedly over his head, that he had not even the 
sense to run away. All manly grit — what he pos- 
sessed of it — had been knocked out of him, and he 
could only whimper over the fire while waiting for 
Lambert to act. 

Garvington was not quite so downhearted, as he 
knew that his cousin was anxious to consider the fair 
fame of the family. Thinking thus, he felt a trifle 
reassured, for the forged letter could not be made 
public without a slur being cast on the name. Then, 
again, Garvington knew that he was innocent of de- 
signing Pine’s death, and that, even if Lambert did 
inform the police, he could aot be arrested. It is 
only just to say that had the little man known of Miss 
280 


RED MONEY 


281 


Greeby’s intention to murder the millionaire, he would 
never have written the letter which lured the man to 
his doom. And for two reasons: in the first place 
he was too cowardly to risk his neck ; and in the sec- 
ond Pine was of more value to him alive than dead. 
Comforting himself with this reflection, he managed 
to maintain a fairly calm demeanor before his wife. 

But on this night Lady Garvington was particularly 
exasperating, for she constantly asked questions 
which the husband did not feel inclined to answer. 
Having heard that Lambert was in the village, she 
wished to know why he had not been asked to stay 
at The Manor, and defended the young man when 
Garvington pointed out that an iniquitous person 
who had robbed Agnes of two millions could not be 
tolerated by the man — Garvington meant himself — 
he had wronged. Then Jane inquired why Lambert 
had brought Chaldea to the house, and what had 
passed in the library, but received no answer, save a 
growl. Finally she insisted that Freddy had lost his 
appetite, which was perfectly true. 

“And I thought you liked that way of dressing a 
fish so much, dear,” was her wail. “I never seem to 
quite hit your taste.” 

“Oh, bother: leave me alone, Jane. I’m worried.” 

“I know you are, for you have eaten so little. What 
is the matter?” 

“Everything’s the matter, confound your inquisi- 
tiveness. Hasn’t Agnes lost all her money because 
of this selfish marriage with Noel, hang him? How 
the dickens do you expect us to carry on unless we 
borrow ?” 

“Can’t you get some money from the person who 
now inherits?” 

“Jarwin won’t tell me the name.” 

“But I know who it is,” said Lady Garvington 


282 RED MONEY 


triumphantly. “One of the servants who went to the 
gypsy camp this afternoon told my maid, and my maid 
told me. The gypsies are greatly excited, and no 
wonder. ,, 

Freddy stared at her. “Excited, what about ?” 

“Why, about the money, dear. Don’t you know?’’ 

“No, I don’t!” shouted Freddy, breaking a glass 
in his irritation. “What is it? Bother you, Jane. 
Don’t keep me hanging on in suspense.” 

“I’m sure I never do, Freddy, dear. It’s Hubert’s 
money which has gone to his mother.” 

Garvington jumped up. “Who — who — who is his 
mother?” he demanded, furiously. 

“That dear old Gentilla Stanley.” 

“What! What! What!” 

“Oh, Freddy,” said his wife plaintively. “You 
make my head ache. Yes, it’s quite true. Celestine 
had it from William the footman. Fancy, Gentilla 
having all that money. How lucky she is.” 

“Oh, damn her; damn her,” growled Garvington, 
breaking another glass. 

“Why, dear. I’m sure she’s going to make good 
use of the money. She says — so William told Celes- 
tine — that she would give a million to learn for cer- 
tain who murdered poor Hubert.” 

“Would she? would she? would she?” Garving- 
ton’s gooseberry eyes nearly dropped out of his head, 
and he babbled, and burbled, and choked, and splut- 
tered, until his wife was quite alarmed. 

“Freddy, you always eat too fast. Go and lie 
down, dear.” 

“Yes,” said Garvington, rapidly making up his 
mind to adopt a certain course about which he wished 
his wife to know nothing. “I’ll lie down, Jane.” 

“And don’t take any more wine,” warned Jane, 


RED MONEY 283 


as she drifted out of the dining-room. “You are 
quite red as it is, dear.” 

But Freddy did not take this advice, but drank 
glass after glass until he became pot-valiant. He 
needed courage, as he intended to go all by himself 
to the lonely Abbot’s Wood Cottage and interview 
Silver. It occurred to Freddy that if he could induce 
the secretary to give up Miss Greeby to justice, 
Mother Cockleshell, out of gratitude, might surrender 
to him the sum of one million pounds. Of course, 
the old hag might have been talking all round the 
shop, and her offer might be bluff, but it was worth 
taking into consideration. Garvington, thinking that 
there was no time to lose, since his cousin might be 
beforehand in denouncing the guilty woman, hurried 
on his fur overcoat, and after leaving a lying state- 
ment with the butler that he had gone to bed, he went 
out by the useful blue door. In a few minutes he 
was trotting along the well-known path making up 
his mind what to say to Silver. The interview did 
not promise to be an easy one. 

“I wish I could do without him,” thought the 
treacherous little scoundrel as he left his own prop- 
erty and struck across the waste ground beyond the 
park wall. “But I can’t, dash it all, since he’s the 
only person who saw the crime actually committed. 
’Course he’ll get jailed as an accessory-after-the-fact : 
but when he comes out I’ll give him a thousand or so 
if the old woman parts. At all events, I’ll see what 
Silver is prepared to do, and then I’ll call on old 
Cockleshell and make things right with her. Hang 
it,” Freddy had a qualmish feeling. “The exposure 
won’t be pleasant for me over that unlucky letter, but 
if I can snaffle a million, it’s worth it. Curse the 
honor of the family, I’ve got to look after myself 
somehow. Ho! ho!” he chuckled as he remembered 


284 RED MONEY 


his cousin. “What a sell for Noel when he finds that 
I’ve taken the wind out of his sails. Serve him jolly 
well right.” 

In this way Garvington kept up his spirits during 
the walk, and felt entirely cheerful and virtuous by 
the time he reached the cottage. In the thin, cold 
moonlight, the wintry wood looked spectral and wan. 
The sight of the frowning monoliths, the gaunt, 
frozen trees and the snow-powdered earth, made the 
luxurious little man shiver. Also the anticipated 
conversation rather daunted him, although he decided 
that after all Silver was but a feeble creature who 
could be easily managed. What Freddy forgot was 
that he lacked pluck himself, and that Silver, driven 
into a corner, might fight with the courage of despair. 
The sight of the secretary’s deadly white and terrified 
face as he opened the door sufficient to peer out 
showed that he was at bay. 

“If you come in I’ll shoot,” he quavered, brokenly. 
“I’ll — I’ll brain you with the poker. I’ll throw hot 
water on you, and — and scratch out your — your ” 

“Come, come,” said Garvington, boldly. “It’s only 
me — a friend!” 

Silver recognized the voice and the dumpy figure 
of his visitor. At once he dragged him into the 
passage and barred the door quickly, breathing hard 
meanwhile. “I don’t mind you,” he giggled, hyster- 
ically. “You’re in the same boat with me, my lord. 
But I fancied when you knocked that the police — the 

police” his voice died weakly in his throat : he cast 

a wild glance around and touched his neck uneasily 
as though he already felt the hangman’s rope encir- 
cling it. 

Garvington did not approve of . this grim panto- 
mime, and swore. “I’m quite alone, damn you,” he 
said roughly. “It’s all right, so far!” He sat down 


BED MONEY 


285 


and loosened his overcoat, for the place was like a 
Turkish bath for heat. “I want a drink. You’ve 
been priming yourself, I see,” and he pointed to a 
decanter of port wine and a bottle of brandy which 
were on the table along with a tray of glasses. “Silly 
ass you are to mix.” 

“I’m — I’m — keeping up my — my spirits,” giggled 
Silver, wholly unnerved, and pouring out the brandy 
with a shaking hand. “There you are, my lord. 
There’s water, but no soda.” 

“Keeping up your spirits by pouring spirits down,” 
said Garvington, venturing on a weak joke. “You’re 
in a state of siege, too.” 

Silver certainly was. He had bolted the shutters, 
and had piled furniture against the two windows of 
the room. On the table beside the decanter and bot- 
tles of brandy, lay a poker, a heavy club which Lam- 
bert had brought from Africa, and had left behind 
when he gave up the cottage, a revolver loaded in all 
six chambers, and a large bread knife. Apparently 
the man was in a dangerous state of despair and was 
ready to give the officers of the law a hostile welcome 
when they came to arrest him. He touched the vari- 
ous weapons feverishly. 

“I’ll give them beans,” he said, looking fearfully 
from right to left. “Every door is locked; every 
window is bolted. I’ve heaped up chairs and sofas 
and tables and chests of drawers, and wardrobes and 
mattresses against every opening to keep the devils 
out. And the lamps — look at the lamps. Ugh!” he 
shuddered. “I can’t bear to be in the dark.” 

“Plenty of light,” observed Garvington, and spoke 
truly, for there must have been at least six lamps in 
the room — two on the table, two on the mantel-piece, 
and a couple on the sideboard. And amidst his 
primitive defences sat Silver quailing and quivering 


286 


RED MONEY 


at every sound, occasionally pouring brandy down his 
throat to keep up his courage. 

The white looks of the man, the disorder of the 
room, the glare of the many lights, and the real dan- 
ger of the situation, communicated their thrill to 
Garvington. He shivered and looked into shadowy 
corners, as Silver did; then strove to reassure both 
himself and his companion. “Don’t worry so,” he 
said, sipping his brandy to keep him up to concert 
pitch. “I’ve got an idea which will be good for both 
of us.” 

“What is it?” questioned the secretary cautiously. 
He naturally did not trust the man who had betrayed 
him. 

“Do you know who has inherited Pine’s money?” 

“No. The person named in the sealed envelope?” 

“Exactly, and the person is Mother Cockleshell.” 

Silver was so amazed that he forgot his fright. 
“What? Is Gentilla Stanley related to Pine?” 

“She’s his grandmother, it seems. Gne of my 
servants was at the camp to-day and found the gyp- 
sies greatly excited over the old cat’s windfall.” 

“Whew !” Silver whistled and drew a deep breath. 
“If I’d known that, I’d have got round the old 
woman. But it’s too late now since all the fat is on 
the fire. Mr. Lambert knows too much, and you 
have confessed what should have been kept quiet.” 

“I had to save my own skin,” said Garvington sul- 
lenly. “After all, I had nothing to do with the mur- 
der. I never guessed that you were so mixed up in 
it until Lambert brought that bullet to fit the revolver 
I lent you.” 

“And which I gave to Miss Greeby,” snapped Sil- 
ver tartly. “She is the criminal, not me. What a 
wax she will be in when she learns the truth. I ex- 
pect your cousin will have her arrested.” 


RED MONEY 


287 


“I don’t think so. He has some silly idea in his 
head about the honor of our name, and won’t press 
matters unless he is forced to. ,, 

“Who can force him?” asked Silver, looking more 
at ease, since he saw a gleam of hope. 

“Chaldea ! She’s death on making trouble.” 

“Can’t we silence her? Remember you swing on 
my hook.” 

“No, I don’t,” contradicted Garvington sharply. 
“I can’t be arrested.” 

“For forging that letter you can!” 

“Not at all. I did not write it to lure Pine to his 
death, but only wished to maim him.” 

“That will get you into trouble,” insisted Silver, 
anxious to have a companion in misery. 

“It won’t, I tell you. There’s no one to prosecute. 
You are the person who is in danger, as you knew 
Miss Greeby to be guilty, and are therefore an acces- 
sory after the fact.” 

“If Mr. Lambert has the honor of your family at 
heart he will do nothing,” said the secretary hope- 
fully; “for if Miss Greeby is arrested along with me 
the writing of that letter is bound to come out.” 

“I don’t care. It’s worth a million.” 

“What is worth a million ?” 

“The exposure. See here, Silver, I hear that 
Mother Cockleshell is willing to hand over that sum 
to the person who finds the murderer of her grand- 
son. We know that Miss Greeby is guilty, so why 
not give her up and earn the money?” 

The secretary rose in quivering alarm. “But I’d 
be arrested also. You said so; you know you said 
so.” 

“And I say so again,” remarked Garvington, lean- 
ing back coolly. “You’d not be hanged, you know, 
although she would. A few years in prison would 


288 


RED MONEY 


be your little lot and when you came out I could give 
you say — er — er — ten thousand pounds. There ! 
That’s a splendid offer.” 

“Where would you get the ten thousand? Tell 
me !” asked Silver with a curious look. 

“From the million Mother Cockleshell would hand 
over to me.” 

“For denouncing me?” 

“For denouncing Miss Greeby.” 

“You beast!” shrieked Silver hysterically. “You 
know quite well that if she is taken by the police I 
have no chance of escaping. I’d run away now if 
I had the cash. But I haven’t. I count on your 
cousin keeping quiet because of your family name, 
and you shan’t give the show away.” 

“But think,” said Garvington, persuasively, “a 
whole million.” 

“For you, and only ten thousand for me. Oh, I 
like that.” 

“Well, I’ll make it twenty thousand.” 

“No ! no.” 

“Thirty thousand.” 

“No! no! no!” 

“Forty, fifty, sixty, seventy — oh, hang it, you 
greedy beast! I’ll give you one hundred thousand. 
You’d be rich for life then.” 

“Would I, curse you!” Silver clenched his fists 
and backed against the wall looking decidedly dan- 
gerous. “And risk a life-long sentence to get the 
money while you take the lion’s share.” 

“You’d only get ten years at most,” argued the 
visitor, annoyed by what he considered to be silly 
objections. 

“Ten years are ten centuries at my time of life. 
You shan’t denounce me.” 

Garvington rose. “Yes, I shall,” he declared, ren- 


RED MONEY 


289 


dered desperate by the dread lest he should lose the 
million. “I'm going to Wanbury to-night to tell In- 
spector Darby and get a warrant for Miss Greeby’s 
arrest along with yours as her accomplice.’' 

Silver flung himself forward and gripped Gar- 
vington’s coat. “You daren’t!” 

“Yes, I dare. I can’t be hurt. I didn’t murder the 
man and I’m not going to lose a pile of money for 
your silly scruples.” 

“Oh, my lord, consider.” Silver in a panic 
dropped on his knees. “I shall be shut up for years; 
it will kill me; it will kill me! And you don’t know 
what a terrible and clever woman Miss Greeby is. 
She may deny that I gave her the revolver and I 
can’t prove that I did. Then I might be accused of 
the crime and hanged. Hanged!” cried the poor 
wretch miserably. “Oh, you’ll never give me away, 
my lord, will you.” 

“Confound you, don’t I risk my reputation to get 
the money,” raged Garvington, shaking off the trem- 
bling arms which were round his knees. “The truth 
of the letter will have to come out, and then I’m 
dished so far as society is concerned. I wouldn’t 
do it — tell that is — but that the stakes are so large. 
One million is waiting to be picked up and I’m going 
to pick it up.” 

“No ! no ! no ! no !” Silver grovelled on the floor 
and embraced Garvington’s feet. But the more he 
wailed the more insulting and determined did the 
visitor become. Like all tyrants and bullies Gar- 
vington gained strength and courage from the in- 
creased feebleness of his victim. “Don’t give me up,” 
wept the secretary, nearly beside himself with terror; 
“don’t give me up.” 

“Oh, damn you, get out of the way!” said Gar- 
vington, and made for the door. “I go straight to 


290 


RED MONEY 


Wanbury,” which statement was a lie, as he first in- 
tended to see Mother Cockleshell at the camp and 
make certain that the reward was safe. But Silver 
believed him and was goaded to frenzy. 

“You shan’t go!” he screamed, leaping to his feet, 
and before Garvington knew where he was the sec- 
retary had the heavy poker in his grasp. The little 
fat lord gave a cry of terror and dodged the first 
blow which merely fell on his shoulder. But the sec- 
ond alighted on his head and with a moan he dropped 
to the ground. Silver flung away the poker. 

“Are you dead? are you dead?” he gasped, kneel- 
ing beside Garvington, and placed his hand on the 
senseless man’s heart. It still beat feebly, so he arose 
with a sigh of relief. “He’s only stunned,” panted 
Silver, and staggered unsteadily to the table to seize 
a glass of brandy. “I’ll, ah — ah — ah!” he shrieked 
and dropped the tumbler as a loud and continuous 
knocking came to the front door. 

Naturally in his state of panic he believed that the 
police had actually arrived, and here he had struck 
down Lord Garvington. Even though the little man 
was not dead, Silver knew that the assault would add 
to his punishment, although he might have concluded 
that the lesser crime was swallowed up in the greater. 
But he was too terrified to think of doing anything 
save hiding the stunned man, and with a gigantic 
effort he managed to fling the body behind the sofa. 
Then he piled up rugs and cushions between the wall 
and the back of the sofa until Garvington was quite 
hidden and ran a considerable risk of being suffo- 
cated. All the time the ominous knocking contin- 
ued, as though the gallows was being constructed. 
At least it seemed so to Silver’s disturbed fancy, and 
he crept along to the door holding the revolver in an 
unsteady grip. 


RED MONEY 


291 


“Who — who — is ” 

“Let me in; let me in,” said a loud, hard voice. 
“I’m Miss Greeby. I have come to save you. Let 
me in.” 

Silver had no hesitation in obeying, since she was 
in as much danger as he was and could not hurt him 
without hurting herself. With trembling fingers he 
unbolted the door and opened it, to find her tall and 
stately and tremendously impatient on the threshold. 
She stepped in and banged the door to without lock- 
ing it. Silver’s teeth chattered so much and his limbs 
trembled so greatly that he could scarcely move or 
speak. On seeing this — for there was a lamp in the 
passage — Miss Greeby picked him up in her big arms 
like a baby and made for the sitting-room. When 
within she pitched Silver on to the sofa behind which 
Garvington lay senseless, and placing her arms 
akimbo surveyed him viciously. 

“You infernal worm!” said Miss Greeby, grim and 
savage in her looks, “you have split on me, have 
you ?” 

“How — how — how do you know?” quavered Silver 
mechanically, noting that in her long driving coat 
with a man’s cap she looked more masculine than 
ever. 

“How do I know? Because Chaldea was hiding 
under the studio window this afternoon and over- 
heard all that passed between you and Garvington 
and that meddlesome Lambert. She knew that I 
was in danger and came at once to London to tell me 
since I had given her my address. I lost no time, 
but motored down here and dropped her at the camp. 
Now I’ve come to get you out of the country.” 

“Me out of the country?” stammered the secretary. 

“Yes, you cowardly swine, although I’d rather 


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choke the life out of you if it could be done with 
safety. You denounced me, you beast.” 

“I had to ; my own neck was in danger.” 

“It’s in danger now. I’d strangle you for two 
pins. But I intend to send you abroad since your 
evidence is dangerous to me. If you are out of the 
way there’s no one else can state that I shot Pine. 
Here’s twenty pounds in gold;” she thrust a canvas 
bag into the man’s shaking hands; “get on your coat 
and cap and I’ll take you to the nearest seaport 
wherever that is. My motor is on the verge of the 
wood. You must get on board some ship and sail 
for the world’s end. I’ll send you more money when 
you write. Come, come,” she stamped, “sharp’s the 
word.” 

“But — but — but ” 

Miss Greeby lifted him off the sofa by the scruff 
of the neck. “Do you want to be killed?” she said 
between her teeth, “there’s no time to be lost. Chal- 
dea tells me that Lambert threatens to have me 
arrested.” 

The prospect of safety and prosperity in a distant 
land so appealed to Silver that he regained his cour- 
age in a wonderfully short space of time. Rising to 
his feet he hastily drained another glass of brandy 
and the color came back to his wan cheeks. But for 
all the quantity he had drank that same evening he 
was not in the least intoxicated. He was about to 
rush out of the room to get his coat and cap when 
Miss Greeby laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. 

“Is there any one else in the house?” she asked 
suspiciously. 

Silver cast a glance towards the sofa. “There’s 
no servant,” he said in a stronger voice. “I have 
been cooking and looking after myself since I came 
here. But — but — but ” 


RED MONEY 


298 


“But what, you hound?” she shook him fiercely. 

“Garvington’s behind the sofa.” 

“Garvington !” Miss Greeby was on the spot in a 
moment pulling away the concealing rugs and cush- 
ions. “Have you murdered him?” she demanded, 
drawing a deep breath and looking at the senseless 
man. 

“No, he’s only stunned. I struck him with the 
poker because he wanted to denounce me.” 

“Quite right.” Miss Greeby patted the head of 
her accomplice as if he were a child, “You’re bolder 
than I thought. Go on ; hurry up ! Before Garving- 
ton recovers his senses we’ll be far enough away. 
Denounce me; denounce him, will you?” she said, 
looking at Garvington while the secretary slipped out 
of the room; “you do so at your own cost, my lord. 
That forged letter won’t tell in your favor. Ha!” 
she started to her feet. “What’s that! Who’s here?” 

She might well ask. There was a struggle going 
on in the passage, and she heard cries for help. Miss 
Greeby flung open the sitting-room door, and Silver, 
embracing Mother Cockleshell, tumbled at her feet. 
“She got in by the door you left open,” cried Silver 
breathlessly, “hold her or we are lost ; we’ll never get 
away.” 

“No, you won’t!” shouted the dishevelled old 
woman, producing a knife to keep Miss Greeby at 
bay. “Chaldea came to the camp and I learned 
through Kara how she’d brought you down, my Gen- 
tile lady. I went to tell the golden rye, and he’s on 
the way here with the village policeman. You’re 
done for.” 

“Not yet.” Miss Greeby darted under the uplifted 
knife and caught Gentilla round the waist. The next 
moment the old woman was flung against the wall. 


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breathless and broken up. But she still contrived 
to hurl curses at the murderess of her grandson. 

“I saw you shoot him; I saw you shoot him/’ 
screamed Mother Cockleshell, trying to rise. 

“Silver, make for the motor; it’s near the camp; 
follow the path,” ordered Miss Greeby breathlessly; 

“there’s no time to be lost. As to this old devil ” 

she snatched up a lamp as the secretary dashed out 
of the house, and flung it fairly at Gentilla Stanley. 
In a moment the old woman was yelling with agony, 
and scrambled to her feet a pillar of fire. Miss 
Greeby laughed in a taunting manner and hurled 
another lamp behind the sofa. “You’d have given 
me up also, would you, Garvington ?” she cried in her 
deep tone; “take that, and that, and that.” 

Lamp after lamp was smashed and burst into 
flames, until only one was left. Then Miss Greeby, 
seeing with satisfaction that the entire room was on 
fire and hearing the sound of hasty footsteps and the 
echoing of distant voices, rushed in her turn from 
the cottage. As she bolted the voice of Garvington 
screaming with pain and dread was heard as he came 
to his senses to find himself encircled by fire. And 
Mother Cockleshell also shrieked, not so much be- 
cause of her agony as to stop Miss Greeby from 
escaping. 

“Rye! Rye! she’s running; catch her; catch her. 
Aha — aha — aha!” and she sank into the now blazing 
furnace of the room. 

The walls of the cottage were of mud, the parti- 
tions and roof of wood and thatch, so the whole place 
soon burned like a bonfire. Miss Greeby shot out of 
the door and strode at a quick pace across the glade. 
But as she passed beyond the monoliths, Lambert, in 
company with a policeman, made a sudden appear- 
ance and blocked her way of escape. With a grim 


RED MONEY 


295 


determination to thwart him she kilted up her skirts 
and leaped like a kangaroo towards the undergrowth 
beneath the leafless trees. By this time the flames 
were shooting through the thatched roof in long 
scarlet streamers and illuminated the spectral wood 
with awful light. 

"‘Stop! stop!” cried Lambert, racing to cut off the 
woman’s retreat, closely followed by the constable. 

Miss Greeby laughed scornfully, and instead of 
avoiding them as they crossed her path, she darted 
straight towards the pair. In a moment, by a dex- 
terous touch of her shoulders right and left, she 
knocked them over by taJking them unawares, and 
then sprang down the path which curved towards the 
gypsies’ encampment. At its end the motor was 
waiting, and so vivid was the light that she saw Sil- 
ver’s black figure bending down as he frantically 
strove to start the machine. She travelled at top 
speed, fearful lest the man should escape without her. 

Then came an onrush of Romany, attracted to the 
glade by the fire. They guessed from Miss Greeby’s 
haste that something was seriously wrong and tried 
to stop her. But, delivering blows straight from the 
shoulder, here, there, and everywhere, the woman 
managed to break through, and finally reached the 
end of the pathway. Here was the motor and safety, 
since she hoped to make a dash for the nearest sea- 
port and get out of the kingdom before the police 
authorities could act. 

But the stars in their course fought against her. 
Silver, having started the machinery, was already 
handling the steering gear, and bent only upon saving 
his own miserable self, had put the car in motion. 
He could only drive in a slip-slop amateur way and 
aimlessly zigzagged down the sloping bank which fell 
away to the high road. As the motor began to gather 


296 


RED MONEY 


speed Miss Greeby ran for her life and liberty, rang- 
ing at length breathlessly alongside. The gypsies 
tailed behind, shouting. 

“Stop, you beast!” screamed Miss Greeby, feeling 
fear for the first time, and she tried to grab the car 
for the purpose of swinging herself on board. 

But Silver urged it to greater speed. “I save my- 
self; myself,” he shrieked shrilly and unhinged by 
deadly terror, “get away; get away.” 

In his panic he twisted the wheel in the wrong 
direction, and the big machine swerved obediently. 
The next moment Miss Greeby was knocked down 
and writhed under the wheels. She uttered a tragic 
cry, but little Silver cared for that. Rendered merci- 
less with fear he sent the car right over her body, and 
then drove desperately down the hill to gain the hard 
road. Miss Greeby, with a broken back, lay on the 
ground and saw as in a ghastly dream her machine 
flash roaring along the highway driven by a man who 
could not manage it. Even in her pain a smile crept 
over her pale face. 

“He’s done for, the little beast,” she muttered, “he’ll 
smash. Lambert ! Lambert !” The man whose name 
she breathed had arrived as she spoke; and knelt 
breathlessly beside her to raise her head. “You — 
you — oh, poor creature!” he gasped. 

“I’m done for, Lambert,” she panted in deadly 
pain, “back broken. I sinned for you, but — but you 
can’t hang me. Look — look after Garvington — * 
Cockleshell too — look — look — augh !” and she 
moaned. 

“Where are they?” 

“In — in — the — cottage,” murmured the woman, 
and fell back in a fainting condition with a would-be 
sneering laugh. 

Lambert started to his feet with an oath, and leav- 


RED MONEY 


297 


ing the wretched woman to the care of some gypsies, 
ran back to the glade. The cottage was a mass of 
streaming, crackling flames, and there was no water 
to extinguish these, as he realized with sudden fear. 
It was terrible to think that the old woman and Gar- 
vington were burning in that furnace, and desperately 
anxious to save at least one of the two, Lambert tried 
to enter the door. But the heat of the fire drove him 
back, and the flames seemed to roar at his discom- 
fiture. He could do nothing but stand helplessly and 
gaze upon what was plainly Garvington’s funeral 

pyre. 

By this time the villagers were making for the 
wood, and the whole place rang with cries of excite- 
ment and dismay. The wintry scene was revealed 
only too clearly by the ruddy glare and by the same 
sinister light. Lambert suddenly beheld Chaldea at 
his elbow. Gripping his arm, she spoke hoarsely, 
“The tiny rye is dead. He drove the engine over a 
bank and it smashed him to a pulp.” 

“Oh! ah! And — and Miss Greeby?” 

“She is dying.” 

Lambert clenched his hands and groaned, “Gar- 
vington and Mother Cockleshell?” 

“She is dead and he is dead by now,” said Chaldea, 
looking with a callous smile at the burning cottage, 
“both are dead— Lord Garvington.” 

“Lord Garvington?” Lambert groaned again. He 
had forgotten that he now possessed the title and 
what remained of the family estates. 

“Avali!” cried Chaldea, clapping her hands and 
nodding toward the cottage with a meaning smile, 
“there’s the bonfire to celebrate the luck.” 


CHAPTER XXI. 


A FINAL SURPRISE. 

A week later and Lambert was seated in the library 
of The Manor, looking worn and anxious. His wan 
appearance was not due so much to what he had 
passed through, trying as late events had been, as to 
his dread of what Inspector Darby was about to say. 
That officer was beside him, getting ready for an im- 
mediate conversation by turning over various papers 
which he produced from a large and well-filled pocket- 
book. Darby looked complacent and important, as 
an examination into the late tragedy had added greatly 
to his reputation as a zealous officer. Things were 
now more ship-shape, as Miss Greeby had died after 
making confession of her crime and had been duly 
buried by her shocked relatives. The ashes of Lord 
Garvington and Mother Cockleshell, recovered from 
the debris of the cottage, had also been disposed of 
with religious ceremonies, and Silver’s broken body 
had been placed in an unwept grave. The frightful 
catastrophe which had resulted in the death of four 
people had been the talk of the United Kingdom for 
the entire seven days. 

What Lambert was dreading to hear was the report 
of Miss Greeby’s confession, which Inspector Darby 
had come to talk about. He had tried to see her him- 
self at the village inn, whither she had been trans- 
ferred to die, but she had refused to let him come to 
298 


RED MONEY 


299 


her dying bed, and therefore he did not know in what 
state of mind she had passed away. Judging from 
the vindictive spirit which she had displayed, Lambert 
fancied that she had told Darby the whole wretched 
story of the forged letter and the murder. The last 
was bound to be confessed, but the young man had 
hoped against hope that Miss Greeby would be silent 
regarding Garvington’s share in the shameful plot. 
Wickedly as his cousin had behaved, Lambert did not 
wish his memory to be smirched and the family honor 
to be tarnished by a revelation of the little man’s true 
character. He heartily wished that the evil Garving- 
ton had done might be buried with him, and the whole 
sordid affair forgotten. 

“First, my lord,” said Darby leisurely, when his 
papers were in order, “I have to congratulate your 
lordship on your accession to the title. Hitherto so 
busy have I been that there has been no time to do 
this.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Inspector, but I regret that I 
should have succeeded through so tragic a death.” 

“Yes, yes, my lord! the feeling does you honor,” 
Darby nodded sympathetically; “but it must be some 
comfort for you to know that your poor cousin per- 
ished when on an errand of mercy, although his aim 
was not perhaps quite in accordance with strict jus- 
tice.” 

Lambert stared. “I don’t know what you mean,” 
he remarked, being puzzled by this coupling of Gar- 
vington’s name with any good deed. 

“Of course you don’t, my lord. But for you to 
understand I had better begin with Miss Greeby’s con- 
fession. I must touch on some rather intimate things, 
however,” said the inspector rather shyly. 

“Meaning that Miss Greeby was in love with me.” 

“Exactly, my lord. Her love for you — if you will 


BOO 


RED MONET 


excuse my mentioning so private a subject — caused 
the whole catastrophe/’ 

“Indeed,” the young man felt a sense of relief, as 
if Darby put the matter in this way the truth about 
the forged letter could scarcely have come to light, 
“will you explain?” 

“Certainly, my lord. Miss Greeby always wished 
to marry your lordship, but she knew that you loved 
your wife, the present Lady Garvington, who was then 
Lady Agnes Pine. She believed that you and Lady 
Agnes would sooner or later run away together.” 

“There was no reason she should think so,” said 
Noel, becoming scarlet. 

“Of course not, my lord. Pardon me again for 
speaking of such very private matters. But I can 
scarcely make your lordship understand how the late 
Sir Hubert Pine came by his death unless I am pain- 
fully frank.” 

“Go on, Mr. Inspector,” Noel leaned back and 
folded his arms. “Be frank to the verge of rudeness, 
if you like.” 

“Oh, no, no, my lord ; certainly not,” Darby said in 
a shocked manner. “I will be as delicate as I possibly 
can. Well, then, my lord, Miss Greeby, thinking that 
you might elope with the then Lady Agnes Pine, re- 
solved to place an even greater barrier between you 
than the marriage.” 

“What could be a possibly greater barrier?” 

“Your honor, my lord, your strict sense of honor. 
Miss Greeby thought that if she got rid of Sir Hu- 
bert, and Lady Agnes was in possession of the mil- 
lions, that you would never risk her losing the same 
for your sake.” 

“She was right in supposing that, Mr. Inspector, but 
how did Miss Greeby know that Lady Agnes would 
lose the money if she married me?” 


RED MONEY 


801 


“Sir Hubert told her so himself, my lord, when she 
discovered that he was at the Abbot’s Wood camp un- 
der the name of Ishmael Hearne.” 

“His real name.” 

“Of course, my lord; of course. And having made 
this discovery and knowing how jealous Sir Hubert 
was of his wife — if you will pardon my mentioning 
the fact — Miss Greeby laid a trap to lure him to The 
Manor that he might be shot.” 

The listener moved uneasily, and he now quite ex- 
pected to hear the revelation of Garvington’s forgery. 
“Go on, Mr. Inspector.” 

“Miss Greeby,” pursued the officer, glancing at his 
notes, “knew that the late Mark Silver, who was Sir 
Hubert’s secretary, was not well disposed toward his 
employer, as he fancied that he had been cheated out 
of the proceeds of certain inventions. Miss Greeby 
worked on this point and induced Silver to forge a 
letter purporting to come from Lady Agnes to you 
saying that an elopement had been arranged.” 

“Oh,” Lambert drew a breath of relief, “so Silver 
laid a trap, did he?” 

“Yes, my lord, and a very clever one. The letter 
was arranged by Silver to fall into Sir Hubert’s 
hands. That unfortunate gentleman came to the blue 
door at the appointed time, then Miss Greeby, who 
had climbed out of the window of her bedroom to 
hide in the shrubbery, shot the unsuspecting man. 
She then got back into her room — and a very clever 
climber she must have been, my lord — and afterward 
mingled with the guests.” 

“But why did she think of luring Sir Hubert to be 
shot?” asked Noel with feigned ignorance, “when she 
ran such a risk of being discovered ?” 

“Ah, my lord, therein lies the cleverness of the 
idea. Poor Lord Garvington had threatened to shoot 


302 


RED MONEY 


any burglar, and that gave Miss Greeby the idea. It 
was her hope that your late cousin might kill Sir Hu- 
bert by mistaking him for a robber, and she only 
posted herself in the shrubbery to shoot if Sir Hubert 
was not killed. He was not, as we know that the shot 
fired by Lord Garvington only broke his arm. Miss 
Greeby made sure by killing him herself, and very 
cleverly she did so.” 

“And what about my late cousin's philanthropic 
visit to Silver ?” 

“Ah, my lord, that was a mistake. His lordship 
was informed of the forged letter by Chaldea the 
gypsy girl, who found it in Sir Hubert's tent, and for 
the sake of your family wished to get Silver out of the 
country. It would have been dreadful — as Lord Gar- 
vington rightly considered — that the name of his sis- 
ter and your name should be mentioned in connection 
with an elopement even though it was untrue. He 
therefore went to induce Silver to leave the country, 
but the man, instead of being grateful, stunned his 
lordship with a blow from a poker which he had 
picked up.” 

“How was that known, Mr. Inspector?” 

“Miss Greeby had the truth from his own lips. Sil- 
ver threatened to denounce her, and knowing this 
Chaldea went to London to warn her." 

“Oh,” muttered Lambert, thinking of what Gentilla 
Stanley had said, “how did she find out?” 

“She overheard a conversation between Silver and 
Lord Garvington in the cottage.” 

Lambert was relieved again, since Miss Greeby had 
not evidently mentioned him as being mixed up with 
the matter. “Yes, Mr. Inspector, I can guess the rest. 
This unfortunate woman came down to get Silver, 
who could have hanged her, out of the country, and he 
set fire to the cottage.” 


RED MONEY 


303 


“She set fire to it,” corrected Darby quickly, “by 
chance, as she told me, she overturned a lamp. Of 
course, Lord Garvington, being senseless, was burned 
to death. Gentilla Stanley was also burned.” 

“How did she come to be there?” 

“Oh, it seems that Gentilla followed Hearne — he 
was her grandson I hear from the gypsies — to The 
Manor on that night and saw the shooting. But she 
said nothing, not feeling sure if her unsupported tes- 
timony would be sufficient to convict Miss Greeby. 
However, she watched that lady and followed her to 
the cottage to denounce her and prevent the escape of 
Silver — who knew the truth also, as she ascertained. 
Silver knocked the old woman down and stunned her, 
so she also was burned to death. Then Silver ran for 
the motor car and crushed Miss Greeby — since he 
could not manage the machine.” 

“Did he crush her on purpose, do you think?” 

“No,” said Darby after a pause, “I don’t think so. 
Miss Greeby was rich, and if the pair of them had 
escaped Silver would have been able to extort money. 
He no more killed her than he killed himself by dash- 
ing into that chalk pit near the road. It was misman- 
agement of the motor in both cases.” 

Lambert was quiet for a time. “Is that all?” he 
asked, looking up. 

“All, my lord,” answered the inspector, gathering 
his papers together. 

“Is anything else likely to appear in the papers?” 

“No, my lord.” 

“I noted,” said Lambert slowly, “that there was no 
mention of the forged letter made at the inquest.” 

Darby nodded. “I arranged that, my lord, since 
the forged letter made so free with your lordship’s 
name and that of the present Lady Garvington. As 
you probably saw, it was only stated that the late Sir 


304 


RED MONEY 


Hubert had gone to meet his secretary at The Manor 
and that Miss Greeby, knowing of his coming, had 
shot him. The motive was ascribed as anger at the 
late Sir Hubert for having lost a great sum of money 
which Miss Greeby entrusted to him for the purpose 
of speculation.” 

“And is it true that such money was entrusted and 
lost?” 

“Perfectly true, my lord. I saw in that fact a chance 
of hiding the real truth. It would do no good to make 
the forged letter public and would cast discredit both 
on the dead and the living. Therefore all that has 
been said does not even hint at the trap laid by Silver. 
Now that all parties concerned are dead and buried, 
no more will be heard of the matter, and your lordship 
can sleep in peace.” 

The young man walked up and down the room for 
a few minutes while the inspector made ready to de- 
part. Noel was deeply touched by the man’s consider- 
ation and made up his mind that he should not lose 
by the delicacy he had shown in preserving his name 
and that of Agnes from the tongue of gossips. He 
saw plainly that Darby was a man he could thoroughly 
trust and forthwith did so. 

“Mr. Inspector,” he said, coming forward to shake 
hands, “you have acted in a most kind and generous 
manner and I cannot show my appreciation of your 
behavior more than by telling you the exact truth of 
this sad affair.” 

“I know the truth,” said Darby staring. 

“Not the exact truth, which closely concerns the 
honor of my family. But as you have saved that by 
suppressing certain evidence it is only right that you 
should know more than you do know.” 

“I shall keep quiet anything that you tell me, my 


BED MONEY 


305 


lord,” said Darby greatly pleased; “that is, anything 
that is consistent with my official duty.” 

“Of course. Also I wish you to know exactly how 
matters stand, since there may be trouble with Chal- 
dea.” 

“Oh, I don’t think so, my lord. Chaldea has mar- 
ried that dwarf.” 

“Kara, the Servian gypsy?” 

“Yes. She’s given him a bad time, and he put up 
with it because he had no authority over her ; but now 
that she’s his romi — as these people call a wife — 
he’ll make her dance to his playing. They left Eng- 
land yesterday for foreign parts — Hungary, I fancy, 
my lord. The girl won’t come back in a hurry, for 
Kara will keep an eye on her.” 

Lambert drew a long breath of relief. “I am glad,” 
he said simply, “as I never should have felt safe while 
she remained in England.” 

“Felt safe?” echoed the officer suspiciously. 

His host nodded and told the man to take a seat 
again. Then, without wasting further time, he re- 
lated the real truth about the forged letter. Darby 
listened to the recital in amazement and shook his 
head sadly over the delinquency of the late Lord Gar- 
vington. 

“Well ! Well !” said the inspector staring, “to think 
as a nobleman born and bred should act in this way.” 

“Why shouldn’t a nobleman be wicked as well as 
the grocer?” said Lambert impatiently, “and accord- 
ing to the socialistic press all the evil of humanity is 
to be found in aristocratic circles. However, you 
know the exact truth, Mr. Inspector, and I have con- 
fided to you the secret which concerns the honor of 
my family. You won’t abuse my confidence.” 

Darby rose and extended his hand. “You may be 
sure of that, my lord. What you have told me will 


306 


RED MONEY 


never be repeated. Everything in connection with this 
matter is finished, and you will hear no more about 
it.” 

“I’m glad and thankful,” said the other, again draw- 
ing a breath of relief, “and to show my appreciation 
of your services, Darby, I shall send you a substantial 
check.” 

“Oh, my lord, I couldn’t take it. I only did my 
duty.” 

“I think you did a great deal more than that,” an- 
swered the new Lord Garvington dryly, “and had you 
acted entirely on the evidence you gathered together, 
and especially on the confession of that miserable 
woman, you might have made public much that I 
would prefer to keep private. Take the money from 
a friend, Darby, and as a mark of esteem for a man.” 

“Thank you, my lord,” replied the inspector 
straightly, “I don’t deny but what my conscience and 
my duty to the Government will allow me to take it 
since you put it in that way. And as I am not a rich 
man the money will be welcome. Thank you 1” 

With a warm hand-shake the inspector took his de- 
parture and Noel offered up a silent prayer of thank- 
fulness to God that things had turned out so admi- 
rably. His shifty cousin was now dead and there was 
no longer any danger that the honor of the family, 
for which so much had been sacrificed, both by him- 
self and Agnes, would be smirched. The young man 
regretted the death of Mother Cockleshell, who had 
been so well disposed toward his wife and himself, 
but he rejoiced that Chaldea had left England under 
the guardianship of Kara, as henceforth — if he knew 
anything of the dwarf’s jealous disposition — the girl 
would trouble him no more. And Silver was dead and 
buried, which did away with any possible trouble com- 
ing from that quarter. Finally, poor Miss Greeby, 


RED MONEY 


307 


who had sinned for love, was out of the way and 
there was no need to be anxious on her account. Fate 
had made a clean sweep of all the actors in the trag- 
edy, and Lambert hoped that this particular play was 
ended. 

When the inspector went away, Lord Garvington 
sought out his wife and his late cousin’s widow. To 
them he reported all that had passed and gave them 
the joyful assurance that nothing more would be 
heard in connection with the late tragic events. Both 
ladies were delighted. 

“Poor Freddy,” sighed Agnes, who had quite for- 
given her brother now that he had paid for his sins, 
“he behaved very badly ; all the same he had his good 
points, Noel.” 

“Ah, he had, he had,” said Lady Garvington, the 
widow, shaking her untidy head, “he was selfish and 
greedy, and perhaps not so thoughtful as he might 
have been, but there are worse people than poor 
Freddy.” 

Noel could not help smiling at this somewhat 
guarded eulogy of the dead, but did not pursue the 
subject. “Well, Jane, you must not grieve too much.” 

“No, I shall not,” she admitted bluntly, “I am going 
to be quiet for a few months and then perhaps I may 
marry again. But I shall marry a man who lives on 
nuts and roots, my dear Noel. Never again,” she 
shuddered, “shall I bother about the kitchen. I shall 
burn Freddy’s recipes and cookery books.” 

Lady Garvington evidently really felt relieved by 
the death of her greedy little husband, although she 
tried her best to appear sorry. But the twinkle of 
relief in her eyes betrayed her, and neither Noel nor 
Agnes could blame her. She had enough to live on — 
since the new lord had arranged this in a most gener- 


308 


RED MONEY 


ous manner — and she was free from the cares of the 
kitchen. 

“So I’ll go to London in a few days when I’ve 
packed up,” said the widow nodding, “you two dears 
can stay here for your second honeymoon.” 

“It will be concerned with pounds, shillings, and 
pence, then,” said Agnes with a smile, “for Noel has 
to get the estate put in order. Things are very bad 
just now, as I know for certain. But we must try 
to save The Manor from going out of the family.” 

It was at this moment, and while the trio wondered 
how the financial condition of the Lamberts was to be 
improved, that a message came saying that Mr. Jar- 
win wished to see Lord and Lady Garvington in the 
library. Wondering what the lawyer had come about, 
and dreading further bad news, the young couple de- 
scended, leaving the widow to her packing up. They 
found the lean, dry solicitor waiting for them with a 
smiling face. 

“Oh !” said Agnes as she greeted him, “then it’s not 
bad news?” 

“On the contrary,” said Jarwin, with his cough, “it 
is the best of news.” 

Noel looked at him hard. “The best of ne\vs to me 
at the present moment would be information about 
money,” he said slowly. “I have a title, it is true, but 
the estate is much encumbered.” 

“You need not trouble about that, Lord Garving- 
ton; Mrs. Stanley has put all that right.” 

“What?” asked Agnes greatly agitated. “Has she 
made over the mortgages to Noel? Oh, if she only 
has.” 

“She has done better than that,” remarked Jarwin, 
producing a paper of no great size, “this is her will. 
She wanted to make a deed of gift, and probably 
would have done so had she lived. But luckily she 


RED MONEY 


309 


made the will — and a hard-and-fast one it is — for I 
drew it up myself,” said Mr. Jarwin complacently. 

“How does the will concern us?” asked Agnes, 
catching Noel’s hand with a tremor, for she could 
scarcely grasp the hints of the lawyer. 

“Mrs. Stanley, my dear lady, had a great regard 
for you since you nursed her through a dangerous ill- 
ness. Also you were, as she put it, a good and true 
wife to her grandson. Therefore, as she approved of 
you and of your second marriage, she has left the 
entire fortune of your late husband to you and to 
Lord Garvington here.” 

“Never!” cried Lambert growing pale, while his 
wife gasped with astonishment. 

“It is true, and here is the proof,” Jarwin shook 
the parchment, “one million to you, Lord Garvington, 
and one million to your wife. Listen, if you please,” 
and the solicitor read the document in a formal man- 
ner which left no doubt as to the truth of his amazing 
news. When he finished the lucky couple looked at 
one another scarcely able to speak. It was Agnes who 
recovered her voice first. 

“Oh, it can’t be true — it can’t be true,” she cried. 
“Noel, "inch me, for I must be dreaming.” 

“It is true, as the will gives you to understand,” 
said the lawyer, smiling in his dry way, “and if I may 
be permitted to say so, Lady Garvington, never was 
money more rightfully inherited. You surrendered 
everything for the sake of true love, and it is only 
just that you should be rewarded. If Mrs. Stanley 
had lived she intended to keep five or six thousand 
for herself so that she could transport certain gypsies 
to America, but she would undoubtedly have made a 
deed of gift of the rest of the property. Oh, what a 
very fortunate thing it was that she made this will,” 
cried Jarwin, genuinely moved at the thought of the 


310 


BED MONEY 


possible loss of the millions, “for her unforeseen death 
would have spoiled everything if I had not the fore- 
thought to suggest the testament.” 

“It is to you we owe our good fortune.” 

“To Mrs. Gentilla Stanley — and to me partially. 
I only ask for my reward that you will continue to 
allow me to see after the property. The fees,” added 
Jarwin with his dry cough, “will be considerable.” 

“You can rob us if you like,” said Noel, slapping 
him on the back. “Well, to say that I am glad is to 
speak weakly. I am overjoyed. With this money 
we can restore the fortunes of the family again.” 

“They will be placed higher than they have ever 
been before,” cried Agnes with a shining face. “Two 
millions. Oh, what a lot of good we can do.” 

“To yourselves?” inquired Jarwin dryly. 

“And to others also,” said Lambert gravely. “God 
has been so good to us that we must be good to 
others.” 

“Then be good to me, Lord Garvington,” said the 
solicitor, putting away the will in his bag, “for I am 
dying of hunger. A little luncheon ” 

“A very big one.” 

“I am no great eater,” said Jarwin, and walked to- 
ward the door, “a wash and brush-up and a plate of 
soup will satisfy me. And I will say again what I 
said before to both of you, that you thoroughly de- 
serve your good fortune. Lord Garvington, you are 
the luckier of the two, as you have a wife who is far 
above rubies, and — and — dear me, I am talking ro- 
mance. So foolish at my age. To think — well — 
well, I am extremely hungry, so don’t let luncheon be 
long before it appears,” and with a croaking laugh at 
his jokes the lawyer disappeared. 

Left alone the fortunate couple fell into one an- 
other’s arms. It seemed incredible that the past storm 


RED MONEY 


311 


should have been succeeded by so wonderful a calm. 
They had been tested by adversity, and they had 
proved themselves to be of sterling metal. Before 
them the future stretched in a long, smooth road 
under sunny blue skies, and behind them the black 
clouds, out of which they had emerged, were dispers- 
ing into thin air. Evil passes, good endures. 

“Two millions!” sighed Agnes joyfully. 

“Of red money,” remarked her husband. 

“Why do you call it that?” 

“Mother Cockleshell — bless her! — called it so be- 
cause it was tainted with blood. But we must cleanse 
the stains, Agnes, by using much of it to help all that 
are in trouble. God has been good in settling our 
affairs in this way, but He has given me a better gift 
than the money.” 

“What is that?” asked Lady Garvington softly. 

“The love of my dear wife,” said the happiest of 
men to the happiest of women. 


THE END. 


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